But spring was coming again, any how; the field looked smiling and green, specked here and there with white dots which, she opined. might possibly be daisies.  She half wished she was not too old and dignified to dart across the road, leap the sunk fence, and run to see.

“I think, Johanna—­Hark, what can that be?”

For at this instant somebody came tearing down the stairs, opened the front door, and did—­exactly what Hilary had just been wishing to do.

“It’s Elizabeth, without her bonnet or shawl, with something white flying behind her.  How she is dashing across the field!  What can she be after?  Just look.”

But loud screams from Selina’s room, the front, one, where she had been lying in bed all morning, quite obliterated the little servant from their minds.  The two sisters ran hastily up stairs.

Selina was sitting up, in undisguised terror and agitation.

“Stop her!  Hold her!  I’m sure she has gone mad.  Lock the door, or she’ll come back and murder us all.”

“Who?  Elizabeth!  Was she here?  What has been the matter?”

But it was some time before they could make out any thing.  At last they gathered that Elizabeth had been waiting upon Miss Selina, putting vinegar cloths on her head, and doing various things about the room.  “She is very handy when one is ill.” even Selina allowed.

“And I assure you I was talking most kindly to her; about the duties of her position, and how she ought to dress better, and be more civil behaved, or else she never could except to keep any place.  And she stood in her usual sulky way of listening, never answering a word—­with her back to me, staring right out of window.  And I had just said, Elizabeth, my girl’—­indeed, Hilary, I was talking to her in my very kindest way—­”

“I’ve no doubt of it—­but do get on.”

“When she suddenly turned round, snatched a clean towel from a chair back, and another from my head—­actually from my very head, Johanna—­and out she ran.  I called after her, but she took no more notice than if I had been a stone.  And she left the door wide open—­blowing upon me.  Oh, dear; she has given me my death of cold.”  And Selina broke out into piteous complainings.

Her elder sister soothed her as well as she could, while Hilary ran down to the front door and looked, and enquired every where for Elizabeth.  She was not to be seen on field or road; and along that quiet terrace not a soul had even perceived her quit the house.

“It’s a very odd thing.” said Hilary, returning.  “What can have come over the girl?  You are sure, Selina, that you said nothing which—­”

“Now I know what you are going to say, You are going to blame me.  Whatever happens in this house you always blame me.  And perhaps you’re right.  Perhaps I am a nuisance—­a burden—­would be far better dead and buried.  I wish I were!”

When Selina took this tack, of course her sisters were silenced.  They quited her a little, and then went down and searched the house all over.