We had no choice, therefore turned
and left her to get home as she might.
Not until we were on the way back, did it occur to me that I had not
asked Martha whether she knew anything about my uncle's departure. She
was never one to volunteer news, and, besides, would naturally think me
in his confidence!
I found she knew nothing of our expedition, as no one had gone into the
house--had only heard the horses and voices, and wondered. I was able to
tell her what had happened; but the moment I began to question her as to
any knowledge of my uncle's intentions, my strength gave way, and I burst
into tears.
"Don't be silly, Belorba!" cried Martha, almost severely. "You an engaged
young lady, and tied so to your uncle's apron-strings that you cry the
minute he's out of your sight! You didn't cry when Mr. Day left you!"
"No," I answered; "he was going only for a day or two!"
"And for how many is your uncle gone?"
"That is what I want to know. He means to be away a long time, I fear."
"Then it's nothing but your fancy sets you crying!--But I'll just see!"
she returned. "I shall know by the money he left for the house-keeping!
Only I won't budge till I see you eat."
Faint for want of food, I had no appetite. But I began at once to eat,
and she left me to fetch the money he had given her as he went.
She came back with a pocket-book, opened it, and looked into it.
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