The Judge stood on the threshold, his face white with excitement. In his hands was a letter, and his voice shook as he spoke.
"It's nothing bad, Perkins," he said, and Judy, as she faced him, saw that his eyes were bright with some new hope. "It's nothing bad. But I've had a letter—a strange, strange letter, Perkins—and I must go on a journey to-night—a journey to the north—to Newfoundland, Perkins."
CHAPTER XVII
MOODS AND MODELS
Anne and Judy were almost overcome by the mystery of the Judge's departure. Not a word could they get out of the reticent Perkins, however, as to the reasons for the sudden flitting, and the Judge had simply said when pressed with questions: "Important business, my dear, which may result rather pleasantly for you. Mrs. Adams will take care of you and Anne while I am gone, which I hope won't be long."
The day that he left it rained, and the day after, and the day after that, and on the fourth day, when the sea was gray and the sky was gray and the world seemed blotted out by the blinding torrents, Judy, who had been pacing through the house like a caged wild thing, came into the library, and found Anne curled up in the window-seat with a book.
"I came down here with all sorts of good resolutions," she said, fiercely, as she stood by the window, looking out, "but if this rain doesn't stop, I shall do something desperate. I hate to be shut in."
Anne did not look up. She was reading a book breathlessly, and not until Judy had jerked it out of her hand and had flung it across the room did she come to herself with a little cry.
"I shall do something desperate," reiterated Judy, stormily. "Do you hear, Anne?"
Anne smiled up at her—a preoccupied smile.