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"Read it out," urged Milt while the captain went to wait upon a customer. Louise listened with something besides curiosity. The letter was a rambling account of the voyage of the Curlew, telling little directly or exactly about the daily occurrences; but nothing in it conflicted with what Professor Grayling had written Louise save one thing.
Billy Louise stared doubtfully at the place, leaning and peering over the rim. "What d'ye think? Reckon we can make it?" Blue had caught sight of the moving specks far down next the river and up the stream half a mile or more. He was a cow-horse to the bone. He knew those far-off specks for cattle, and he knew that his lady would like a closer look at them.
"'You remember Louise, my wife. "'Certainly, I remember her. "'Well, she left me a message for you. "'What was it? "'A a well, it was what you might call a confession. "'Ha and what was it about? "'It was it was I'd rather, all the same, tell you nothing about it but I must I must. Well, it's this it wasn't consumption she died of at all. It was grief well, that's the long and short of it.
A steady sergeant and half-dozen men are quickly posted as a guard. They can breathe once more. This help is sadly needed. In a darkened room above, little Louise Moreau lies in pain and silence. Grave-faced Pere Francois is the skilful nurse and physician. A shell fragment, bursting through a window, has torn her tender, childish body.
"You'll stay and have dinner, won't you?" urged his hostess. Benton hesitated. "If I do Louise may return, and just now I don't want to meet her. It is better not." "But she won't be back till the last train to Guildford. Mead is meeting her. Yes stay." "I must get a car to take me back to town. I have to go to Glasgow by the early train in the morning."
"Well, well," whispered the doctor to Louise, "it is a good sign; when I say 'Come, throw yourself into his arms, calling him father." His features expressed a sad uncertainty: instead of fixing his eyes on his daughter, he seemed as if he wished to hide himself from her sight. Then he said, in a low and broken voice, "No! no! a dream where am I? impossible a dream it is not she."
Then she bade the faithful servitors good-bye, promising to call upon them at their humble home, and walked slowly over the well-known path to Miss Stearne's establishment, where she presented herself to the principal. It being Saturday, Miss Stearne was seated at a desk in her own private room, where she received Mary Louise and bade her sit down.
He stepped back from her and stood fumbling with his great hands. "I didn't know that any one else had given him three months," he replied. "I based my estimate merely on my recollection of how he looked the last time I saw him. I am willing to allow him all the time he wants and far more than Nature seems willing to grant." "No, you are not. You all want him to die." "Don't say that, Louise.
I heard Mamma say she was 'one of the nervous sort. It would be good fun to play a trick on her and frighten her; wouldn't it? You know the dark entry by the parlor door, Louise?" "Yes." "Well, you know there are plenty of old clothes, and things, hanging up there, and she has to pass by them, when she goes up and down stairs." "Yes."
"Or your father?" "My father?" She gave a little laugh. "Yes, haven't you ever seen him either?" "Why, how should I, silly? Who says that mother knew herself who it was?" There was a pause. Then Peer brought out, rather awkwardly: "We're all alone, then you and I." "Yes we are that." "Louise! What are you thinking of taking to now?" "What are you?" So Peer told her all his plans.
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