She didn’t really know when they had gone. She stood without moving,
without hearing or seeing for a long time. Then suddenly the turmoil
within her died down and she felt perfectly calm.
She went into her own room and began packing her clothes into a little
wicker suitcase, quite carefully and neatly. She hadn’t even troubled to
close the door, and inevitably Miss Amy came in.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going away,” said Rosaleen.
“What nonsense! At this time of night! I won’t allow it!”
“You can’t stop me,” said Rosaleen.
Miss Amy was frightened, unspeakably dismayed at what she had done.
“Don’t be silly!” she said. “Let bygones be bygones. I--I’m sorry,
Rosaleen. Let’s forget all about it. Get to bed now, like a good girl!”
Rosaleen shook her head.
“No!” she said, “I’ve got to go.”
“You wicked girl! Think of all we’ve done for you!” said Miss Amy, in
despair.
“I don’t care,” said Rosaleen.
“I won’t let you take that suitcase, then. It’s mine.”
Instantly Rosaleen began taking her things out of it.
“I’ll wrap them in a newspaper,” she said.
Miss Amy stood there threatening, entreating, arguing, but Rosaleen was
like a stone. She did wrap her things in a newspaper; then she put on
her hat and coat and went out into the passage. Miss Amy stood with her
back against the front door.
“I won’t let you!” she cried. “Where would you go--all alone--at this
time of night!”
A horrible fear had risen in her mind. If Rosaleen “went wrong,” _she_
would be responsible. She didn’t much care what else happened to her, as
long as _that_ was avoided. But she couldn’t have _that_ on her
conscience.
“Morton!” she cried, desperately. “Morton! Come out and speak to this
wicked, headstrong girl!”
No earthly power could have brought the author into this. He didn’t even
answer. He got up from his desk and slipped across the room, and _very_
quietly locked the door.
“I won’t let you out!” cried Miss Amy.
“I’ll stand here till you do!” said Rosaleen firmly.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
A long time went by. Miss Amy had grown weary beyond endurance. And
there stood Rosaleen, leaning against the wall, with her newspaper
package under her arm, pallid, solemn, unconquerable.
Suddenly Miss Amy began to cry.
“Very well, you miserable, heartless girl!” she sobbed. “Go, then, if
you _will_!”
Rosaleen went by her, out of the door, and down the stairs. And never
again did Miss Amy set eyes on her in this world.