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I could hear her give a squeal of surprise at something, and then she seems to be askin' a lot of fool questions. In the course of five or six minutes, though, she leans over the stair rail lookin' sort of excited. "Well?" says I. "Does she know him?" "Know him!" says Sadie. "Why, she says he's her husband!" "Not Lindy's!" I gasps. "That's what she says," insists Sadie.
"Marse Nick!" she cried, terror-stricken, "she'll done fin' out dat you've been er-talkin'." "Pish!" said Nick with a fine air, "who's afraid of her?" Lindy's face took on an expression of intense amusement. "Yo' is, for one, Marse Nick," she answered, with the familiarity of an old servant. "I done seed yo' skedaddle when she comed." "Tut," said Nick, grandly, "I run from no woman. Eh, Davy?"
Even the galley-slave has his holiday this is mine. I am going to see the hounds throw off at Rood Acre, and forget for one day that I have an inch of landed property in the world." "But, George, if the pink-room ceiling is not put right by Saturday, where shall we put Uncle Augustus?" "Into the room just opposite to Lindy's." "What! that little room? In the bachelor's passage?
The words died on Lindy's lips, the ravings of the frenzied woman ceased. The yellowed hands fell limply to the sheet, the shrunken form stiffened. The eyes of the mother looked upon the son, and in them at first was the terror of one who sees the infinite. Then they softened until they became again the only feature that was left of Sarah Temple.
"But somehow," continued Salters, "Lindy warn't satisfied wid rentin', so I buyed a piece ob lan', an' I'se glad now I'se got it. Lindy's got a lot ob gumption; knows most as much as a man. She ain't got dat long head fer nuffin. She's got lots ob sense, but I don't like to tell her so." "Why not?" asked Iola. "Do you think it would make her feel too happy?"
So, remembering your hankering and Lindy's for the society of this young Ritualist, I persuaded him that instead of tramping six miles through the wet he should come here and put up for the night with us; so, leaving the farmer free to get home on his pony, I clinched the matter by promising to send him back to-morrow in time for his eight o'clock service." "Oh dear!
Course, Sadie always insists on throwin' in something for overtime; but winnin' the extra didn't seem to be Lindy's main object. She just wanted to keep goin', and if the work campaign wa'n't all planned out for her to cut loose on the minute she arrived, she'd most have a fit. Even insisted on havin' her meals served on the sewin' table, so she wouldn't lose any time.
"Not in the house! What on earth did you let him in for?" "Because," says I, "he claims to be an old friend of Lindy's." "Of Lindy's!" she gasps. "Why, what " "I don't know the rest," says I. "You spring it on her. Tell her it's Don Carlos, and then let me know what she says." That seems like a simple proposition; but Sadie takes a long time over it.
The words died on Lindy's lips, the ravings of the frenzied woman ceased. The yellowed hands fell limply to the sheet, the shrunken form stiffened. The eyes of the mother looked upon the son, and in them at first was the terror of one who sees the infinite. Then they softened until they became again the only feature that was left of Sarah Temple.
"Marse Nick!" she cried, terror-stricken, "she'll done fin' out dat you've been er-talkin'." "Pish!" said Nick with a fine air, "who's afraid of her?" Lindy's face took on an expression of intense amusement. "Yo' is, for one, Marse Nick," she answered, with the familiarity of an old servant. "I done seed yo' skedaddle when she comed." "Tut," said Nick, grandly, "I run from no woman. Eh, Davy?"
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