There was not much to do, only to make up a bundle of such clothing as she would need the most and could conveniently carry. There were some tiny garments, too, clumsily fashioned by the poor girl’s unskillful hands; they must not be left behind. She tied them all up securely, put on her hat, and sat down to wait until the house should be still, when she would slip quietly out and make her way to the station, where she could take the first train to Petersburg. She felt ill and wretched. Her heart was throbbing to suffocation. How dreadful the suspense was, how slowly the time crept by! Thank Heaven, they were all abed at last, and she could go now. She rose up with her bundle, shrinking a little at the thought of being alone in the streets by night. At that inauspicious moment Mrs. Finley suddenly entered the room. CHAPTER IX. THE SECRET DIVULGED. At the opening of the door, mother and daughter recoiled from each other with smothered cries of amazement. Pansy, who had counted herself so sure of escaping, saw herself detected in the act of flight, forced to confession, shamed, disgraced; but after that one exclamation of alarm she hurriedly determined to brave it out, if possible; so, clutching her bundle tightly, she assumed an expression of calmness that she was very far from feeling. “Why, Pansy, what does this mean? I expected to find you abed,” exclaimed her mother, staring in astonishment at the shrinking girl. “I--I--wanted to go out a few minutes, mamma, dear. My new calico, you know, I must take it to that sewing girl on the next square, for I shall need it next week,” stammered Pansy, trying to push by her mother; but Mrs. Finley suddenly put her back against the door, exclaiming suspiciously: “Going to the dressmaker’s at this time of night? I don’t believe it! You are up to some mischief, Pansy Laurens! Running away, perhaps, and it’s a good thing I caught you in the nick of time. Give me that bundle and let me look into it.” There was a brief, short struggle, then Mrs. Finley triumphed, and Pansy flung herself, bitterly weeping, upon the floor, while her mother rummaged through the telltale bundle. “Aha, just as I thought! Change of clothes--oh, you wicked girl! What is this? Oh-h-h, heavens! Pa-a-n-sy Lau-rens, what does this mean?” She was holding up sundry tiny bits of soft flannel and linen trimmed with homemade crochet edging. Pansy did not lift her head. She knew without looking, and she moaned despairingly: “Oh, mamma, mamma, if only you had let me go away in peace you need never have known!” * * * * * “You say that she will live, doctor? Oh, I am so glad! And yet it would be better, perhaps, for my poor girl if she had died.”