She slid along in her wake, panting softly, and lifting her skirts out of the evening dew.

She was trembling with sympathy for Charlotte, and she had also a worry of her own.

When they reached the new house she fairly sobbed outright, but Charlotte went past in her stately haste without a murmur.
"Oh, Charlotte, don't feel so bad," mourned her aunt.

"I know it will all come right." But Charlotte made no reply.

Her dusky skirts swept around the bushes at the corner of the road, and Sylvia hurried tremulously after her.
Neither of them dreamed that Barnabas watched them, standing in one of the front rooms of his new house.