"We will not speak of her now, if you please, Mr. Grey," she suggested. "And, really, I must make haste home, for it is getting late."
Mr. Grey took off his huge steel-bowed spectacles and rubbed them vigorously upon his sleeve.
"To be sure. The days is gettin' shorter, for a fact. November is a dreary month hereabouts; and, upon my word, Miss Trix, I really believe it's goin' to snow. And you have two good miles to walk."
"Yes, sir; I know. I would have come earlier, but Mrs. Lynne objected, and of course I dared not disobey. Then papa glanced up from his books—since his affliction all he can do is to read and write, you know—he glanced up from his books long enough to see that I was really anxious to go, and then he happened to remember that we had not heard from the post-office in three days—three whole days—and so he gave me permission. But I must make haste, for it is five o'clock, and it will be dark before six."
"To be sure—to be sure, Miss Beatrix. Good-night, my dear. I hope you'll reach home all right."
"Thank you. Nothing will harm me, I am sure. Good-night."
The door of the weather-beaten old building opened and closed behind her, and the girl stood alone under the gray of the November sky—a slight, slim figure in a dowdyish brown serge gown, and a hat of last year's fashion—a graceful little figure with a face of rare beauty. Pale, colorless complexion, with straight, delicate features, and large, velvety dark eyes, and a mass of gold-brown hair, Beatrix Dane was well worth looking at as she stood there; for even her common—not to say shabby—attire did not conceal the exquisite grace and beauty of her face and form. For a moment she stood gazing about her, then with a low sigh she hastened away.
Two weary miles lay between the little country town and the cheerless home of Doctor Lynne whom she looked upon as an own father; but the hard-hearted mistress of the house could never stand in the place of a mother to the lonely girl. She was thinking of it now as she hastened over the hard, frozen road, the sun sinking slowly out of sight in the gloomy west, a light fall of snow beginning slowly to descend.
"How I wish I were rich!" she exclaimed, half aloud; "then I would not live in a place like this, away from the world. And I would have my own carriage and need not walk. It must be delightful to have all the money you wish, and not have to wear the same old gown forever—a dyed old gown, too, which is positively hideous."