Come now, like
a good lass, and go to your bed."
"Oh, dear, I wonner what my mither will say aboot it," wailed the girl,
sobbing. "She'll hae a sair, sair heart the nicht, an' my faither'll
break his heart. Oh, if only something could tell them I am a' richt,
an' safe, it would mak' things easier."
"There now. Don't worry about that any more, dearie. You'll only make
yourself ill. Try and keep your mind off it, and go away to bed and
rest."
"But it'll kill my mither!" cried Mysie wildly. "Her no' kennin' where I
am! If she could only ken that I am a' richt! She'll be worryin', an'
she'll be lyin' waken at nicht wonderin' aboot me, an' thinkin' o' every
wild thing that has happened to me. Oh, dear, but it'll break her heart
and kill my faither."
It needed all Mrs. Ramsay's tact and patience to quieten and allay her
fears; but gradually the girl was prevailed upon to go to bed, and Mrs.
Ramsay retired to the next room. But all night she heard Mysie tossing
and turning, and quietly weeping, and she knew that despair was
torturing and tearing her frightened little heart, and trying her beyond
endurance.
Mysie lay wondering how the village gossips at home would discuss her
disappearance.
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