"
Jed was conscious of a cold sensation, like the touch of an icicle,
up and down his spine. Going away! She and Babbie going away! In
his mind's eye he saw a vision of the little house closed once more
and shuttered tight as it used to be. He gasped.
"Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong," he faltered. "Don't talk about goin'
away. It--it isn't needful for you to do anything like that. Of
course it ain't. You--you mustn't. I--we can't spare you."
She drew a long breath. "I would go to the other end of the
world," she said, "rather than tell Captain Hunniwell the truth
about my brother. I told you because Babbie had told you so much
already. . . . Oh," turning swiftly toward him, "YOU won't tell
Captain Hunniwell, will you?"
Before he could answer she stretched out her hand. "Oh, please
forgive me," she cried. "I am not myself. I am almost crazy, I
think. And when you first told me about the position in the bank I
was so happy. Oh, Mr. Winslow, isn't there SOME way by which
Charles could have that chance? Couldn't--couldn't he get it and--
and work there for--for a year perhaps, until they all saw what a
splendid fellow he was, and THEN tell them--if it seemed necessary?
They would know him then, and like him; they couldn't help it,
every one likes him."
She brushed the tears from her eyes. Poor Jed, miserable and most
unreasonably conscience-stricken, writhed in his chair.
Pages:
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230