But I could hear my dear good Price crying behind me, and when I said:
"Now you see for yourself that I cannot remain in this house any
longer," she answered, in a low voice:
"Yes, my lady."
"I must go at once--to-night if possible."
"You shall. Leave everything to me, my lady."
SEVENTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER
The bell rang, but of course I did not go down to dinner.
As soon as Price had gone off to make the necessary arrangements I
turned the key in the lock of my door, removed my evening gown, and
began to dress for my flight.
My brain was numb, but I did my best to confront the new situation that
was before me.
Hitherto I had been occupied with the problem of whether I should or
should not leave my husband's house; now I had to settle the question of
where I was to go to.
I dared not think of home, for (Nessy MacLeod and Aunt Bridget apart)
the house of my father was the last place I could fly to at a moment
when I was making dust and ashes of his lifelong expectations.
Neither dared I think of Sunny Lodge, although I remembered, with a tug
of tenderness, Christian Ann's last message about Mary O'Neill's little
room that was always waiting for me--for I thought of how I had broken
my pledge to her.
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