"I heard Pap Cary say they was to be an inquiry."
"It is my house. I can stop anything of that sort. I have no
insurance on it, and there will be no one to press the inquiry if I
don't. No one must know, Grace."
For a moment Grace looked at her. Then she said, "But what if--_he_
dies?"
Rosamund had forgotten her own anxiety in Grace's. Now, with a little
moan of pain, she hid her face in her hands.
"That's the way," Grace whispered, hopelessly. "You're bound to see it
different, when it's your own man."
They sat in silence for a while, each so occupied with thoughts of her
own love as to forget all else. Presently Grace stood up, as if to
admit that there was nothing further to be said. "Well," she sighed
hopelessly.
But Rosamund stood up, too, and laid her hands on Grace's shoulders.
"No matter what happens, Grace, nobody must know that Joe was so much
as seen near there."
"But supposin' Doctor Ogilvie----?"
"Not even then," Rosamund said, with white, trembling lips. "He has
given all his thought to saving life. Do you think he would want--?
No!"
But Grace shook her head. "I think Mis' Reeves suspicions," she said.
"She does," Rosamund said, "and she has already been warning me against
the investigation. I know she wants to shield Joe."
But Grace's conscience was made all the keener by her reawakened love.
"Well, I'm goin' to tell Ma Cary," she said. "She knows more'n all of
us put together."
They stopped at Eleanor's door, and the three found Mother Cary alone
in the room that was kitchen and dining-room and confessional, as need
arose. Pap had gone back to the doctor's house, too anxious to remain
away.
Mother Cary heard all Grace had to tell, asked a few questions of her
and Eleanor, then sat with her worn old hands clasped in her lap,
thinking it over. Grace's attitude was one of hopeless waiting.
Rosamund watched her, pitying; grief brings no outward beauty to the
lowly, she thought, yet much--how much--of that beauty of soul which
perishes not!
At last Mother Cary spoke. "Miss Rose is right," she said, looking at
Grace. "Nobody must know what we know 'ceptin' jest our own selves. I
wouldn't even say a word of it to Pap; 'cause the better men folks be,
the more they hold on to the letter o' the law. An' fur as I can make
out, this here is one o' the times when the letter o' the law is better
forgotten. Tellin' on Joe ain't goin' to help Doctor Ogilvie any, that
I can see, nor anybody else; an' there's jest a chanct that keepin'
silence may help Joe."
"But Joe did it," Grace said. "I reckon he's man enough to take his
punishment."
"I reckon he is," Mother Cary agreed. "He's a-takin' it right this
minute, too, knowing what his act has done to the doctor. I sure do
believe that's all the punishmint Joe needs. The other kind would be
different, 'cause what he's done is done. I ain't never had time to
puzzle out the whys an' whyfors o' lots o' things, punishmint among
'em; but one thing I know, an' have known ever sence the dear Lord
entrusted me with little child'en o' my own. When punishmint is jest
hittin' back, it don't do anybody a mite o' good. Less'n it helps 'em
not to do it again, it ain't any use whatsoever. Better jest leave it
in the hands o' the dear Lord, Who sees further'n we can, ef you ain't
sure it's goin' to help, not hender. An' tellin' on Joe ain't goin' to
help the doctor nor Joe neither, 'cause Joe ain't the kind that
punishmint helps."
Again there was a silence, until Grace moved a little, unclasped and
clasped her hands, and spoke. "I must go back to my own house," she
said.
Rosamund, startled, was about to protest, but Mother Cary nodded. "Of
course," she said, "he'll be needin' you awful bad now, honey."
And in spite of Rosamund's pleading, Grace refused Eleanor's offer to
go with her, and took her way, alone, through the night, down the
mountain, to her dark, lonely little house. Afterward, Rosamund often
marveled at Mother Cary's allowing it, even urging it, for usually she
was the gentlest of souls, protecting everyone, careful of everyone's
comfort; and surely Grace was now in no condition to go.
But no more than Grace herself did Mother Cary hesitate. She hobbled
about the kitchen, packing a little basket of food; she had Eleanor
bring in one of Pap's lanterns, and lighted it; she bade Rosamund make
Grace some tea, and forced the trembling creature to drink it; and at
last she opened the door for her.
Grace started out, but came back into the room to kiss them, and they
saw that she was smiling; it had been long since poor Grace had smiled!
"I'll go up to my chamber and wave the lantern when I get there, ef
all's well," she told them. "An' I can always see your light, Ma Cary!"
They watched, standing shivering in the doorway, until her lantern
disappeared at the bend of the road. Tim, aroused by their voices,
cried out, and Eleanor went to him.
Mother Cary and Rosamund began to straighten the room, putting away the
boxes and pails that had been opened for Grace's basket. Rosamund was
so intent on her thoughts that she would not have noticed that her own
cheeks were wet, if she had not seen Mother Cary's eyes brimming with
tears. After a while she cried,
"Oh, I don't see how she can walk that far, and at night, too! Why
wouldn't you let her wait for Pa Cary?"
The old woman shook her head. "Honey," she said, "ef all is as I make
it out to be, Grace won't go all that way alone and un'tended. The
woods around here have years an' eyes, an' ef her foot stumbles,
there'll be someone there to hold her up, you mark my words."
"Oh, she is not strong enough!" the girl still protested.
Then Mother Cary leaned towards her, took the white hand in both her
own, and asked, "Honey, ef 'twas _your_ man, wouldn't _you_ go?"
Rosamund threw back her head with a sob, and Mother Cary opened her
arms.