The maid-servant who, by Mrs. Boyce's orders, was to accompany Marcella to the village, was already at the front door. She carried a basket containing invalid food for little Willie, and a lighted lantern.
It was a dark night and raining fast. Marcella was fastening up her tweed skirt in the hall, when she saw Mrs. Boyce hurry along the gallery above, and immediately afterwards her mother came across the hall to her.
"You had better take the shawl, Marcella: it is cold and raw. If you are going to sit up most of the night you will want it."
She put a wrap of her own across Marcella's arm.
"Your father is quite right," she went on. "You have had one horrible experience to-day already—"
"Don't, mamma!" exclaimed Marcella, interrupting her. Then suddenly she threw her arms round her mother.
"Kiss me, mamma! please kiss me!"
Mrs. Boyce kissed her gravely, and let herself even linger a moment in the girl's strong hold.
"You are extraordinarily wilful," she said. "And it is so strange to me that you think you do any good. Are you sure even that she wants to have you?"
Marcella's lip quivered. She could not speak, apparently. Waving her hand to her mother, she joined the maid waiting for her, and the two disappeared into the blackness.