"You can feed him now, Martha."
She was hardly outside the door when she heard them talking, fifty to the dozen. She paused, and looked doubtfully at the packet in her hand.
"Is it for good or evil?" she murmured; then she added quickly: "Why should I fear? Surely what God sends must be good."
She was no longer a child but a girl, verging upon womanhood, tall, not over slight of figure, but, as we have said before, graceful and perfectly built. The face was the same child's face; the tendrils of golden hair still clustered round her head and lay on her white neck; the brown eyes had the same luminous, laughing look in them; her colouring was rich and perfect, a little sunburnt, like a ripe peach, and the lips were ripe too.
A door led from the kitchen to the living-room, so she had not far to go. Patience was sitting at the table with a pile of snowy linen in front of her, which she was sorting and arranging with housewifely care.
"Aunt Patience," said Agnes, going up to her, "a king's messenger has just brought this;" and she put the packet down before her. Then she stood at the other side of the table, her hands on her hips, watching her aunt, who took the packet up, turned it over, sighed, and exclaimed:
"Ah me, I have always feared this day would come!"
"Why have you feared it?" asked Agnes sharply.
"Because I am very much mistaken if it does not mean an uprooting," said Patience.
"But if you do not choose to go, must you?" asked Agnes.