Martha left the table at the same time, and followed Miss Betsy up-stairs. Her eyes were full of tears, but she did not tremble, and her voice came firm and clear. “I am going with you,” she said. Miss Lavender whirled around and looked at her a minute, without saying a word. “I see you mean it, child. Don't think me hard or cruel, for I know your feelin's as well as if they was mine; but all the same, I've got to look ahead, and back'ards, and on this side and that, and so lookin', and so judgin', accordin' to my light, which a'n't all tied up in a napkin, what I've got to say is, and ag'in don't think me hard, it won't do!” “Betsy,” Martha Deane persisted, “a misfortune like this brings my duty with it. Besides, he may be in great danger; he may have got his death,”-- “Don't begin talkin' that way,” Miss Lavender interrupted, “or you'll put me out o' patience. I'll say that for your father, he's always mortal concerned for a bad case, Gilbert Potter or not; and I can mostly tell the heft of a sickness by the way he talks about it,--so that's settled; and as to dooties, it's very well and right, I don't deny it, but never mind, all the same, I said before, the whole thing's a snarl, and I say it ag'in, and unless you've got the end o' the ravellin's in your hand, the harder you pull, the wuss you'll make it!” There was good sense in these words, and Martha Deane felt it. Her resolution began to waver, in spite of the tender instinct which told her that Gilbert Potter now needed precisely the help and encouragement which she alone could give. “Oh, Betsy,” she murmured, her tears falling without restraint, “it's hard for me to seem so strange to him, at such a time!” “Yes,” answered the spinster, setting her comb tight with a fierce thrust, “it's hard every one of us can't have our own ways in this world! But don't take on now, Martha dear; we only have your father's word, and not to be called a friend's, but _I'll_ see how the land lays, and tomorrow evenin', or next day at th' outside, you'll know everything fair and square. Neither you nor Gilbert is inclined to do things rash, and what you _both_ agree on, after a proper understanding I guess'll be pretty nigh right. There! where's my knittin'-basket?” Miss Lavender trudged off, utterly fearless of the night walk of two miles, down the lonely road. In less than an hour she knocked at the door of the farm-house, and was received with open arms by Mary Potter. Gilbert had slept the greater part of the day, but was now awake, and so restless, from the desire to leave his bed, that his mother could with difficulty restrain him. “Set down and rest yourself, Mary!” Miss Betsy exclaimed. “I'll go up and put him to rights.”