CHAPTER XVII.
With dripping clothes and a sad heart Cynthia went up to the house after Neal had left her. She was bitterly disappointed and extremely uncomfortable. Her hair, never very securely fastened, had fallen down and lay in a wet mass about her face and neck; her hat felt heavy as lead, and water oozed from her shoes as she walked.
"Nothing will ever be right again," she thought, as she gave a depressed glance at all the familiar objects on the place. "I feel as if it were going to rain forever, and the sun would never shine again. It would have been so different if Neal had only come home!"
Mrs. Franklin was thankful to see her appear, and refrained from reproaching her until she had been thoroughly dried and warmed. Then all she said was:
"I thought you would never come, Cynthia! Was it worth while to go on the river such a morning as this?"
"No, mamma; but you will forgive me when you hear why I went," said Cynthia, setting down the cup of ginger tea which Mary Ann had made so hot and so strong that she could scarcely swallow it. "But tell me how Edith is, first."
"She is about the same. She seems anxious about something. She is restless and uneasy, but it is difficult for her to speak. Perhaps she wants you. I think that is it, for you know I do not satisfy her," added Mrs. Franklin, with a sigh.
Cynthia knelt beside her, and put her arms around her. "Dear mamma!" she said, lovingly.
Mrs. Franklin rested her head on her step-daughter's shoulder. "Cynthia darling, you are a great comfort to me! Are you sure you feel perfectly warm? You must not take cold."
"I'm as warm as toast. It won't hurt me a bit; you know I never take cold. But let me tell you something—the reason I went. You could never guess! I went to see some one."