Cousin Don had a right to her, he was her guardian cousin. Would he not have a right to come and take her away? But her mother—what would her mother choose for her to do?
They had been so kind to her mother.
“I will go and stay—a week,” she resolved, tears rushing afresh; “but I miss Marion when I stay one single night.”
At the supper-table she announced with reddened eyelids and a voice that would not be steady that she thought she would go to Aunt Affy’s before evening service and stay over night; Uncle Cephas had told her that morning that Aunt Affy was very tired.
“Must you go?” asked Marion. “But I know they need you. Mrs. Evans said they couldn’t get any one, and Aunt Rody was in bed to-day.”
“Perhaps I’ll find it easier than I think,” said Judith.
“As soon as they find a nurse you will come back,” encouraged Marion.
During the walk through the village and to the Sparrow place Judith’s courage all oozed away; she grew so faint-hearted that she thought she was faint; she stopped for a glass of water at the well where the lilies had come, and went upstairs a moment to talk to Nettie, still helpless in her invalid chair.
“The minister came to see me this afternoon,” Nettie greeted her; “he read and prayed and told me things. Has he told you anything?”
“Yes, and I almost wish he had not. I have to do right things—whether I want to or not.”