“A bedroom. I propose staying here to-night.”
Martha gazed at her as if she had not heard aright. “Here, Miss?” she faltered. “Here?”
“Certainly.” Betty regarded the frightened woman more attentively. “Do as I tell you.” Her sharp tone aroused Martha from her startled contemplation of her. “You can take my hat and coat upstairs as you go and hang them in the bedroom closet. Come, what’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing, Miss, nothing.” Martha reached out a reluctant hand and took the proffered coat and hat, then without further word she hastened up the staircase. So great was her speed that she stumbled breathlessly into a bedroom halfway down the corridor of the second floor, the door of which stood partly open.
Miriam Ward turned at her unceremonious entrance and regarded her in astonishment.
“What is it?” she asked, alarmed at the woman’s pallor. “Are you ill?”
Martha shook her head as she advanced to the closet and, opening the door, disappeared inside, to reappear the next instant, empty-handed.
“No, ma’am, I ain’t ill,” she volunteered, resting one hand on the chair-back. “But I think she are.”
“She? Who?”
“Miss Betty Carter.” Martha breathed more easily. “She says she is going to stay here all night.”