"Och, 'tis too bad! I must go to him."
"Nay, nay, there's no need, Miss Williams, he'll manage somehow."
"Aye, but I can nurse her; yes, I must go; I can get the next train."
"Well, ye know best," replied Keturah.
Keturah continued to sit by the fire, muttering to herself: "Well, well
indeed, 'tis as I thought; dear, the poor lass, the poor lad! Trouble,
trouble, trouble!" She leaned forward to stir the pot. "He'll not be
wantin' it, not at all." Keturah dwelt moodily on her thoughts, with no
change in attitude except when she took the oat-cake from the skillet
and reached forward to stir the pot. "'Tis certain disgrace whatever;
och, och, the poor lad!"
Suddenly there was the rush of hurrying feet and Deb came in breathless
and excited. "Well, well, he's gone, and I didn't know that his
mother----" she gasped.
"Aye, he went over an hour ago," interrupted Keturah.
"He was passin' the window, an' my mistress saw him an' called to him;
but he wouldn't stay, he said he couldn't, he was runnin' to catch the
train."
"Aye, so he was indeed," agreed Keturah.
"An' she ordered me to pack up an' call the coach, an' so I did; she
thought she'd get there all the quicker to help him than by takin' the
train an' makin' so many changes."
"Jane Elin's gone, too; she left Gelligaer over half an hour past," said
Keturah slowly.
"The schoolmistress gone?" questioned Deb. "What for, indeed?"
"To be with him."
"To be with him!"
"Aye, ye're blind, blind as a bat, Deborah, an' that trustin' ye see
nothin' and believe anythin'. Believin' the whale swallowed Jonah is
nothin' to what ye're capable of takin' on faith," ended Keturah, with
infinite sarcasm.
"Dear, dear, dear, Keturah, I cannot believe this whatever! What shall
we do? Och, the disgrace it'll be!"