CLOUDY DAYS
The days dragged themselves along and a week loitered past which seemed
an age to the Winnebagos. No word had come from Nyoda since a telegram
she had sent upon her arrival, saying that Sherry was very low and not
expected to live. They had written her about Veronica's plight, but
there was no answer to that.
Neither did they hear anything about Veronica. Mr. Wing had been in
Philadelphia ever since the day of Veronica's arrest, but they had not
heard from him since.
The Winnebagos wore themselves out talking about Veronica. The subject
of her mysterious excursions from the house was always in the air, and
it formed a hurdle over which no one could jump. Where had she gone on
those excursions? Why didn't she confide in them and satisfy their minds
on this point?
It usually happens in such instances, where our friends fail to take us
into their confidence on matters which we think we have a right to
know, that our pride is hurt at the neglect and pretty soon we begin to
have suspicions in regard to the mysterious action. So it was with the
Winnebagos. At first they only felt hurt that Veronica should have
secrets away from them, but soon they began to say to themselves that
there must have been something suspicious somewhere, if she could not
confide in them, her best friends.
It was Agony who voiced this sentiment the oftenest, and kept the
mystery constantly stirred up. She never let them forget it for a
moment. She seemed inclined to argue as her father had done, that
Veronica's ties of blood and birth had been too strong for her and in an
unguarded moment she had yielded to the impulse to assist the cause of
her native land. The constant repetition of this belief began to
influence the others. Much as they were loath to believe that Veronica
would assist the enemies of their country, they were always conscious of
the fact that they had never really known Veronica; that they could not
understand her strange, passionate nature; that never in their
acquaintance with her had they ever been able to guess what she would do
next. There had always been a gulf between themselves and her which they
had never been able to cross entirely, much as they had come to love
her; there was always a line drawn around her over which they had never
been able to pass. They loved her dearly; they admired her wildly; but
they no more understood the soul that was locked up in her
uncommunicative nature than they understood the riddle of the Sphinx.
They all realized this, and were filled with sorrowful forebodings. The
fact that she had known Prince Karl Augustus loomed larger and larger in
their minds as the days wore on, and it seemed not at all improbable
that she had seized the opportunity to aid him in his activities,
without ever stopping to think of the consequences of her act. They were
broken-hearted over it, but gradually came to believe the possibility of
the charge against her.
Only Sahwah stood out stanchly for her right along, refusing to doubt
her for a moment.
"I don't care if she _is_ an alien enemy!" she declared vehemently.
"She's my Veronica, and I know she never had anything to do with it, so
there!"
She wouldn't listen to Agony and her wise-sounding talk, withdrew to
herself a great part of the time, and for lack of other supporters spoke
out her mind to the portrait of Elizabeth Carver, hanging serenely over
the harp in the long parlor.
"You would have stood up for your friend, no matter what the others
said, wouldn't you?" she demanded beseechingly, and it seemed to her
that Elizabeth nodded her head in confirmation.
Then one day came news which filled them all with consternation.
Veronica was to be interned! Mr. Wing came home and told them about it
briefly. The weight of suspicion had been so strong against Veronica
that nothing could stand against it; her internment had been ordered by
the agents of the government. They were now awaiting the arrival of the
internment papers from Washington; when these came she would be taken
away.
Mr. Wing wearily waved aside the hosts of questions poured out by the
dismayed Winnebagos. He had suffered great chagrin over the loss of the
letter which was to have played such an important part in the coming
trial; sober afterthoughts had convinced him of the possibility of
Veronica's connection with enemy agents; he had come to believe it
implicitly now. Of course, she had taken in these simple girls with her
spectacular protestations of loyalty to this country; that was part of
the game. His anxiety was all for his girls, for fear they had already
compromised themselves in some way.
The Winnebagos saw him in a new mood to-day, stern, inflexible,
obdurate. He curtly advised them to speedily forget their friend and to
say nothing to outsiders about the occurrence. He refused to tell them
where she was at present, and would not hear of their having any
intercourse with her.
"The first thing you know you'll be suspected of connivance yourselves,"
he warned. "And I also advise you not to express too much sympathy for
your friend," he continued. "It's a sure way to make yourselves
unpopular these days."
Stricken, Sahwah sped home, and fleeing from the others, went into the
woods by herself. That was always her place of refuge in trouble. When
others would have sought human comfort and advice, Sahwah fled straight
to the woods. There she could think clearly and gather together her
stunned faculties.
She wandered on blindly until she came to the brook, the little laughing
stream she loved so well, and sat there for hours trying to think of
some plan by which she could save Veronica. For the conviction was
strong within her that Veronica was innocent and it would not budge for
all the suspicions in the world. She thought of one wild extravagant
scheme after the other, and abandoned them all, and at last, utterly
crushed and low-spirited, she took her way back to Carver House.