So the girl resolved not to yield to any such imaginings. She hastened down to the room where her mother and aunt still sat over the smouldering fire on the hearth. She walked calmly up to her mother's side and resumed her place on the footstool by her.
"Have they come home yet?" asked Prudence's mother.
"No; it's hardly time."
"There's one consolation," said the elder lady, "nothing ever happens to Prue; she'll do the strangest things, and nothing ever happens to her. We needn't worry in the least."
"No, not in the least," responded Carolyn.
She sat at her mother's feet and watched the ashes gather over the coals on the hearth. The women talked fitfully, and the girl tried to listen to what they said. One of them recalled how nervous she had been when her own wedding-day had been set. She said that, though she never doubted her lover in the least, she had a dreadful conviction that something would happen to keep him from coming to be married. Here the speaker laughed as she went on:
"My father said that if I had such an opinion as that of Leander Ffolliott I'd better never marry him, even if he did come."
"But he was there,—he was not a minute late?" asked Carolyn, with uncontrollable interest.
Her mother smiled at her, as she answered, complacently, "He was early; of course he was early. But why do you look so pale, Caro?"
Carolyn had no time to answer, for Leander came plunging into the room fresh from the pen where he kept his fowls. He announced that the wind was going down, and that it was time for "Rod 'n' Prue" to be back. He was besought by his mother to go to bed, but refused utterly, saying that he was going to sit up for Prue.