"Yes, from home. We settled that last night. You see, we had a little family council after you had gone, to talk things over. Mother wanted to send Dorcas away—that's our old servant—but I don't think that would do. She is very faithful to mother, and though I think I could do most of her work, still on the whole I think it would make more for mother to do. Dorcas does the washing so well, and she's so useful in every way, and we don't like to send her away, if we can possibly help it, poor old soul!"
"Then what do you mean to do?"
"Well, I don't quite know yet. Go as companion or mother's help, I suppose. I don't think I could get any teaching, because I've never passed any exams. Every one seems to require that now. Louis always brings us the 'Standard' when his father has read it, and we shall look in the advertisements."
"It will be awfully hard for you to go away."
"Oh, I don't know! Yes, I suppose it will rather. But I don't mind, if only they get on all right at home; but I think they ought to, if only Phyllis will take care of mother. I think she will. I believe she will; only, you see, she is the youngest, and I'm afraid we've spoilt her a little. But she's such a dear old girl, and I do think she will try."
"I'm terribly sorry that you should have to go."
"Oh, you mustn't be sorry for me," she said, laughing. "I'm not going to be sorry for myself. I dare say I shall be very happy soon, and if not—well, it really does not matter. It will be all the nicer when I get home for the holidays. Now here we are at old Mary's cottage. I must just run in with her things."
Marjorie took the basket from him and went into the house, and as Captain Fortescue watched her, he wondered what the old woman would do when she missed the bright face and cheerful voice of her friend.
When she came out, she took him up the steep pass, that he might see Honister Crag in the distance, standing out in all its majestic grandeur at the head of the pass. On their left-hand side was the mountain torrent, dashing madly over the rocks, coming down so fast that no frost could stay its course; on their right was moorland, the dead heather thickly covered with snow.
About a mile up the pass the snow became deeper, and they had to turn back, and, passing Seatoller again, they retraced their steps to Rosthwaite. Marjorie never alluded again to her going away, or to the loss of the money; she seemed anxious that he should forget everything painful, that he might be able to carry back with him a happy memory of her beautiful home.