Ewbert had learned not to inquire too critically for a logical process
in his wife's changes of attitude toward any fact. In her present mood
he recognized an effect of the exuberant good-will awakened by the
handsome behavior of the university people, and he agreed with her that
he must go to see old Hilbrook at once. In this good intention his
painful feeling concerning him was soothed, and Ewbert did not get up to
the Hilbrook place till well into the week. It was Thursday afternoon
when he climbed through the orchard, under the yellowing leaves which
dappled the green masses of the trees like intenser spots of the
September sunshine. He came round by the well to the side door of the
house, which stood open, and he did not hesitate to enter when he saw
how freely the hens were coming and going through it. They scuttled out
around him and between his legs, with guilty screeches, and left him
standing alone in the middle of the wide, low kitchen. A certain
discomfort of the nerves which their flight gave him was heightened by
some details quite insignificant in themselves. There was no fire in the
stove, and the wooden clock on the mantel behind it was stopped; the
wind had carried in some red leaves from the maple near the door, and
these were swept against the farther wall, where they lay palpitating in
the draft.
The neglect in all was evidently too recent to suggest any supposition
but that of the master's temporary absence, and Ewbert went to the
threshold to look for his coming from the sheds or the barn. But these
were all fast shut, and there was no sign of Hilbrook anywhere. Ewbert
turned back into the room again, and saw the door of the old man's
little bedroom standing slightly ajar. With a chill of apprehension he
pushed it open, and he could not have experienced a more disagreeable
effect if the dark fear in his mind had been realized than he did to see
Hilbrook lying in his bed alive and awake. His face showed like a fine
mask above the sheet, and his long, narrow hands rested on the covering
across his breast. His eyes met those of Ewbert not only without
surprise, but without any apparent emotion.
"Why, Mr. Hilbrook," said the minister, "are you sick?"
"No, I am first-rate," the old man answered.
It was on the point of the minister's tongue to ask him, "Then what in
the world are you doing in bed?" but he substituted the less
authoritative suggestion, "I am afraid I disturbed you--that I woke you
out of a nap. But I found the door open and the hens inside, and I
ventured to come in"--