"I'll go and see him at once," Helen said.
"Oh, no!" Alfaretta cried, catching her mistress's skirt with grimy hands, "don't go; 't won't do any good."
"Don't be foolish," Helen remonstrated, smiling; "of course I must speak to him. If your father thinks there is too much work, he must tell me, and I will arrange it differently."
She stooped, and took the hem of her cambric gown from between the girl's fingers, and then went quickly into the house.
She rapped lightly at the study door. "John, I must come in a moment, please."
She heard a chair pushed back, and John's footstep upon the floor. He opened the door, and stood looking at her with strange, unseeing eyes.
"Go away, Helen," he said hoarsely, without waiting for her to speak, for she was dumb with astonishment at his face,—"go away, my darling."
He put out one hand as if to push her back, and closed the door, and she heard the bolt pushed. She stood a moment staring at the blank of the locked door. What could it mean? Alfaretta's misery and morals were forgotten; something troubled John,—she had no thought for anything else. She turned away as though in a dream, and began absently to take off her garden hat. John was in some distress. She went up-stairs to her bedroom, and tried to keep busy with sewing until she could go to him, but she was almost unconscious of what she did. How long, how very long, the morning was!
John had looked up from his writing to see Mr. Dean standing in the doorway.