"Nothing," was the wretched answer. "Please—please go away!"
But Letitia stayed, brushing the dirt from the girl's dark hair, kissing her, petting her, murmuring the tenderest names, and gently urging her to tell. Peggy raised herself upon her knees, putting both hands to her temples and staring wildly with swollen eyes.
"Mamma's gone in, Miss Primrose," she said, brokenly. "She'll—she'll tell you. Please—please go away!"
She begged so piteously, Letitia rose.
"I'd rather stay, Peggy; but if you wish it—"
"Yes. Please go!"
"I'd rather stay."
"No. Please—"
Slowly, and with many misgivings, Letitia went. She knocked again at the farm-house, but got no answer, as before. She tried the doors—they were locked, all of them. Then her heart reproached her and she hurried back again to the lane. It was growing dusk, and in the vineyard the rows confused her.
"Peggy!" she called, softly.