“He has not a superior,” she said to herself; “he is noble and true and I love him and only him, though he may never think of me or see me again.”
That afternoon Mrs. Lura invited Hilda to make parochial calls with her, after which she intended stopping at Uncle Herbert’s store in the village to purchase material for her embroidery. She was proficient in all kinds of fancy work, and just at that time was exercised over the completion of a sofa pillow for a birthday gift for her father.
In the fancy line Uncle Herbert’s stock was far from extensive at any time, and at that particular epoch was poor indeed, and Mrs. Lura was unable to obtain any of the shades of silk desired. Consequently she lost her temper and sharply reminded him that he ought to keep a store where customers could get at least a third of the articles called for, or give it up that a more enterprising man might take his place.
Uncle Herbert laughed good-naturedly at this candid opinion, accompanied by a frown upon the fair brow and the flashing of brilliant black eyes, and informed her that he intended going to Philadelphia on the early morning train to purchase his half yearly supply of merchandise, and would be happy to get anything she needed.
Equanimity restored, Mrs. Lura made out a list which Uncle Herbert put carefully in his memorandum book, searchingly watched by Mrs. Lura, accompanied by the injunction not to forget until she came for the silks that it was there.
The errands all completed, they drove back to the farmhouse, at the entrance of which Mrs. Warfield met them, more disturbed than they had ever seen her.
“My love,” she said taking Hilda’s hand, “a telegram has just come from Dorton. Jerusha Flint is very ill; they think she cannot live, and she says she must see you, and you cannot go alone.”
“Uncle Herbert is going to Philadelphia in the morning,” said Mrs. Lura promptly. “Hilda can go with him.”
“That is an excellent opportunity,” exclaimed Mrs. Warfield. “I will send immediately to the village and tell him that Hilda will meet him at the station in good time.”
“Planchette and the carriage are yet at the gate,” said Mrs. Lura, glancing through the window. “I will drive back and tell Uncle Herbert, although I wonder that Hilda is willing to trouble herself to visit one who treated her so unkindly as did Miss Flint. I should not go near her.”