Flower quite made up her mind to go away again. Her mood, however, had completely changed. She was no longer in a passion; on the contrary, she felt stricken and wounded. She would go away now to hide herself, because her face, her form, the sound of her step, the echo of her voice, must be painful to those whom she had injured. She shuddered as she recalled Firefly’s sad words:

“Father says it is wrong to hate any one, but, of course, we cannot love you.”

She felt that she could never look Polly in the face again, that Helen’s gentle smile would be torture to her. Oh, of course she must go away; she must go to-night.

She was very tired, for she had really scarcely rested since her fit of mad passion, and the previous night she had never gone to bed. Still all this mattered nothing. There was a beating in her heart, there was a burning sting of remorse awakened within her, which made even the thought of rest impossible.

Flower was a very wild and untaught creature; her ideas of right and wrong were of the crudest. It seemed to her now that the only right thing was to run away.

When the house was quiet, she once more opened her little cabinet, and took from thence the last great treasure which it contained. It was one solitary splendid unset diamond. She had not the least idea of its value, but she knew that it would probably fetch a pound or two. She had not the least notion of the value of money or of the preciousness of the gem which she held in her hand, but she thought it likely that it would supply her immediate needs.

The house was quite still now. She took off her green cloth dress, put on a very plain one of black cashmere, slipped a little velvet cap on her head, wrapped a long white shawl round her, and thus equipped opened her door, and went downstairs.

She was startled at the foot of the stairs to encounter Maggie. Maggie was coming slowly upwards as Flower descended, and the two girls paused to look at one another. The lamps in the passages were turned low, and Maggie held a candle above her head; its light fell full on Flower.

“You mustn’t go to Miss Polly on no account, Miss Flower,” said Maggie, adopting the somewhat peremptory manner she had already used to Flower in the hermit’s hut. “Miss Polly is not to be frightened or put out in any way, leastways not to-night.”

“You mean that you think I would tell her about Dr. Maybright?”

“Perhaps you would, Miss; you’re none too sensible.”[Pg 132]

Flower was too crushed even to reply to this uncomplimentary speech. After a pause, she said:

“I’m not going to Polly. I’m going away. Maggie, is it true that the—that Dr. Maybright is very ill?”

“Yes, Miss, the Doctor’s despert bad.”

Maggie’s face worked; her candle shook; she put up her other hand to wipe away the fast-flowing tears.

“Oh, don’t cry!” said Flower, stamping her foot impatiently. “Tears do no good, and it wasn’t you who did it.”

“No, Miss, no, Miss; that’s a bit of a comfort. I wouldn’t be you, Miss Flower, for all the wide world. Well, I must go now; I’m a-sleeping in Miss Polly’s room to-night, Miss.”

“Why, is Polly ill, too?”

“Only her foot’s bad. I mustn’t stay, really, Miss Flower.”

“Look here,” said Flower, struck by a sudden thought, “before you go tell me something. Your mother lives in the village, does she not?”

“Why, yes, Miss, just in the main street, down round by the corner. There’s the baker’s shop and the butcher’s, and you turn round a sharp corner, and mother’s cottage is by your side.”

“I’ve a fancy to go and see her. Good-night.”

“But not at this hour, surely, Miss?”

“Why not? I was out later last night.”

“That’s true. Well, I must go to Miss Polly now. Don’t you make any noise when you’re coming in, Miss! Oh, my word!” continued Maggie to herself, “what can Miss Flower want with mother? Well, she is a contrairy young lady mischievous, and all that, and hasn’t she wrought a sight of harm in this yer house! But, for all that, mother’ll be mighty took up with her, for she’s all for romance, mother is, and Miss Flower’s very uncommon. Well, it ain’t nought to do with me, and I’ll take care to tell no tales to Miss Polly, poor dear.”

The night was still and calm; the stars shone peacefully; the wind, which had come in gusts earlier in the evening, had died down. It took Flower a very few minutes to reach the village, and she wasn’t long in discovering Mrs. Ricketts’ humble abode.

That good woman had long retired to rest, but Flower’s peremptory summons on the door soon caused a night-capped head to protrude out of a window, a burst of astonishment to issue from a wonder-struck pair of lips, and a moment later the young lady was standing by Mrs. Ricketts’ fireside.

“I’m proud to see you, Miss, and that I will say. Set down, Miss, do now, and I’ll light up the fire in a twinkling.”

“No, you needn’t,” said Flower. “I’m hot; I’m burning. Feel me; a fire would drive me wild.”

“To be sure, so you are, all in a fever like,” said Mrs. Ricketts, laying her rough hand for a moment on Flower’s dainty arm. “You’ll let me light up the bit of a paraffin[Pg 133] lamp, then, Miss, for it ain’t often as I have the chance of seeing a young lady come all the way from Australy.”

“You can light the lamp, if you like,” said Flower. “And you can stare at me as much as you please. I’m just like any one else, only wickeder. I’ve come to you, Mrs. Ricketts, because you’re Maggie’s mother, and Maggie’s a good girl, and I thought perhaps you would help me.”

“I’m obligated for the words of praise about my daughter, Miss. Yes, she don’t mean bad, Maggie don’t. What can I do to help you, Miss? Anything in my power you are kindly welcome to.”

“Have you ever seen a diamond, Mrs. Ricketts?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure, Miss.”

“Diamonds are very valuable stones, you know.”

“Maybe, Miss. They ain’t in my way. I wish you’d let me light you a bit of fire, Miss Flower. You’ll have the chills presently, Miss, for you’re all of a burning fever now.&rdqu............