"Mr. Amblecrom brought it," she replied.
"Who's he?"
"The postmaster. He often brings the letters that come on the late
mail. He knows I ain't anybody to send. He brought yours about
your coming. He said he and his wife came over on the ferry-boat
with you."
"I remember him," Rebecca replied shortly. "There's bad news in
this letter."
Mrs. Dent's face took on an expression of serious inquiry.
"Yes, my Cousin Harriet has fallen down the cellar stairs--they
were always dangerous--and she's broken her hip, and I've got to
take the first train home to-morrow."
"You don't say so. I'm dreadfully sorry."
"No, you ain't sorry!" said Rebecca, with a look as if she leaped.
"You're glad. I don't know why, but you're glad. You've wanted to
get rid of me for some reason ever since I came. I don't know why.
You're a strange woman. Now you've got your way, and I hope you're
satisfied."
"How you talk."
Mrs. Dent spoke in a faintly injured voice, but there was a light
in her eyes.
"I talk the way it is. Well, I'm going to-morrow morning, and I
want you, just as soon as Agnes Dent comes home, to send her out to
me.
Pages:
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47