"I have been obliged to cut your sleeves a little shorter than Hannah's, for the stuff ran short; but I'll put a deeper cuff, so you won't mind," said Miss Mary Hughes.
Surprised at receiving no answer, she looked up, and saw the expression on Tring's face. "Oh, Mary Hughes!"
There was so genuine an amount of pity in the tone, of some unnamed dread in the look, that Mary Hughes dropped her needle in alarm. "Is anybody took ill?" she asked.
"Not that, not that," answered Tring, subduing her voice to a whisper, and leaning forward to speak; "your sister, Martha Ann—I can't tell it you."
"What of her?" gasped Mary Hughes, a dreadful prevision of the truth rushing over her heart, and turning it to sickness.
"She has gone away with Mr. Robert Carr."
Mary Hughes, not of a strong nature, became faint. Tring got some water for her, and related to her as much as she had heard.
"But how is it known that she's gone? How did Mr. Carr learn it?" asked the poor young woman.
Tring could not tell how he learnt it. She gathered from the conversation that it was known in the town; and Mr. William seemed to know it.
"You'll spare me while I run home for a minute, Tring," pleaded Mary Hughes; "I can't live till I know the rights and the wrongs of it. I can't believe that she'd do such a thing. I'll be back as soon as I can."