"Good-bye, and God speed you!" said Hugh Ingelow.
Mrs. Sharpe walked back to the house. Old Peter admitted her, and all three were solicitous about her headache.
"Much better," Mrs. Sharpe said, quietly. "I knew that walk would cure it."
All the rest of the afternoon she helped old Sally to manufacture pies. Tea-time came, and, ever willing, she volunteered to make the tea.
"Do so," said old Sally. "I can't abear to take my hands out o' dough when they're into it."
The tea was made, the supper-table set, and then Mrs. Sharpe begged permission to make herself a cup of coffee.
"I find it better for my head than tea. It will cure me quite, I know."
Mrs. Oleander assented, and the coffee was made. The quartet sat down to supper, and Susan Sharpe felt an inward quaking as she watched them drink the tea. Mrs. Oleander complained that it was weak; Sally said it must have boiled, it had such a nasty taste; but they drank it for all that.
Supper over, Mrs. Sharpe brought up her patient's. But she carried her coffee, and left the doctored tea behind.
"We are to escape to-night," she said to Mollie. "Be ready. We will start at ten. Don't ask me to explain now. I feel nervous and am going down."