"I am glad you came to me, my dear," said Miss Lucretia, taking her hand.
"Have you talked of this to any one else?"
"No," said Cynthia, simply.
Miss Lucretia was puzzled. She had not looked for apathy, but she did not know all of Cynthia's troubles. She wondered whether she had misjudged the girl, and was misled by her attitude.
"Cynthia," she said, with a briskness meant to hide emotion for Miss Lucretia had emotions, "I am a lonely old woman, getting too old, indeed, to finish the task of my life. I went to see Mrs. Merrill the other day to ask her if she would let you come and live with me. Will you?"
Cynthia shook her head.
"No, Miss Lucretia, I cannot," she answered.
"I won't press it on you now," said Miss Lucretia.
"I cannot, Miss Lucretia. I'm going to Coniston."
"Going to Coniston!" exclaimed Miss Lucretia.
The name of that place—magic name, once so replete with visions of happiness and content—seemed to recall Cynthia's spirit from its flight. Yes, the spirit was there, for it flashed in her eyes as she turned and looked into Miss Lucretia's face.