“Would you be going soon?” asked Claudia.
“I don’t know. It would not matter if you lost a week or two at school—you have been working hard lately.”
“No,” said Claudia, “it would not matter.” And the thought passed through her mind that if her aunt carried out this plan, it would remove all difficulties in the way of her not trying for the prize.
“No one would ever know that I meant to give it up at any rate,” she thought with a slight, a very slight touch of bitterness.
But at that moment the front door-bell rang violently. Both the ladies started.
“What can that be?” said Lady Mildred. “Not a telegram surely. Mr Miller would never think of sending a telegram on a Saturday evening, whatever the business may be that he wants to see me about.”
“Shall I run and see what it is,” said Claudia. For though there was a sound of voices and footsteps dimly in the distance, no servant appeared to explain matters.
“Yes, go,” Lady Mildred was saying, when the door opened and Ball, followed by a footman, appeared.
“If you please, my lady,” the butler began, “it’s Rush from the lodge. He begs pardon for ringing so loud at the front, but he thought it would be quicker. They’ve found a child, if you please, my lady, a boy, dead in the snow down the road. A farm-lad passing—the snow’s not so heavy now—found him and ran for Rush. But Mrs Rush is that frightened she’s lost her head, and their baby’s ill. So Rush thought he’d best come on here.”
A smothered cry broke from Claudia.