Part 24 (1/2)
”Not if you earnestly repent, and pray for His forgiveness.” Hannah raised her grey head, and gazed incredulously at the pale delicate face, into the violet eyes that watched her with almost tender compa.s.sion.
”Oh, child! when our hands are tied, and we are so helpless we can't do any more mischief, who believes in our repentance?”
”I do, Hannah; and how much more merciful is G.o.d?”
”You don't mean that you would ever trust me, ever believe in me again?”
Her hand caught the white muslin dress, and her haggard wrinkled face was full of eager, breathless supplication.
”Yes, Hannah, I would. I do not believe you will ever steal again.
Suppose the lightning had struck you as well as the tree where you hid the stolen paper, what do you think would have become of your poor wicked soul? You intended to sell that paper to a person who hates my mother, and who would have used it to injure her; but she is in G.o.d's hands, and you ought to be glad that this sin at least was prevented. In a few days you are going away, far out to the west, you say, where we shall probably never see or hear from you again, unless you choose to write us. Until you are gone, I shall keep all this secret. Mrs. Lindsay never shall know anything about it; but if Mr.
Hargrove believes my mother took that paper, it is my duty to her to tell him the truth; and this I must do after you leave us. I promise he shall suspect nothing while you remain here. Can you ask me to do more than this for you?”
Hannah was crying pa.s.sionately, and attempted no answer, save by drawing the girl closer to her, as if she wanted to take the slender figure in her brawny arms.
”I am sorry for you, Hannah; sorry for my dear mother; sorry for myself. The storm came and put an end to all the mischief you meant to do, so let us be thankful. You say my mother has a copy; and it would have injured her, if the original paper had been sold. Then you have harmed only yourself. Don't cry, and don't say anything more.
Let it all rest; I shall never speak to you again on the subject.
Hannah, will you please help me back to the house? My foot pains me dreadfully, and I begin to feel sick and faint.”
In the mellow orange light that had climbed the sky, and was flooding the world with a mild glory, wherein the wan moon waned ghostly, the old woman led the white figure toward the parsonage. When they reached the little gate, Regina grasped the supporting arm, and a deadly pallor overspread her features.
”Where are you, Hannah? I cannot see----”
The blue eyes closed, she tottered, and as Hannah caught and bore her up, a swift heavy step on the gravel caused her to glance over her shoulder.
”What is the matter, Aunt Hannah? You look ill and frightened. Is that Minnie's child?”
”Hus.h.!.+ our game is all up. For G.o.d's sake go away until seven o'clock, then I will explain. Don't make a noise, Peleg. I must get her in the house without waking any one. If Mr. Hargrove should see us, we are ruined.”
As Hannah strode swiftly toward the gla.s.s door, bearing the slight form in her stout arms, the stranger pressed forward, eagerly scrutinizing the girl's face; but at this juncture Hero, barking violently, sprang down the walk, and the intruder hastily retreated to the churchyard, securing the gate after he pa.s.sed through.
CHAPTER XI.
The steamer sailed promptly on the Thursday subsequent to Mrs.
Lindsay's departure from the parsonage, but she had been absent ten days, detained by the illness of a friend in Boston.
Impatiently her return was antic.i.p.ated by every member of the household, and when a telegram announced that she might be expected on the following morning, general rejoicing succeeded the gloom which had hung chill and lowering over the diminished family circle. Under Hannah's faithful, cautious treatment Regina had sufficiently recovered from the effects of the sprain to walk once more without much pain, though she still limped perceptibly; but a nameless, formless foreboding of some impending evil--some baleful influence--some grievous calamity hovering near--rendered her particularly anxious for Mrs. Lindsay's comforting presence.
The condition of the church, which was undergoing a complete renovation, as well as repairing of the steeple, prevented the usual services, and this compulsory rest and leisure seemed singularly opportune for Mr. Hargrove, who had been quite indisposed and feeble for some days. The physician ascribed his condition to the la.s.situde induced by the excessive heat, and Regina attributed his pale weary aspect and evident prostration to grief for the loss of his nephew and adopted son; but Hannah looked deeper, shook her grizzled head, and ”wished Miss Elise would come home.”
The pastor's eyes which had long resented the exaggerated taxation imposed upon them by years of study, had recently rebelled outright, and he spoke of the necessity of visiting New York to consult an eminent oculist, who, Mrs. Lindsay wrote, had gone to Canada, but would return in September, when he hoped to examine and undertake the treatment of her brother's eyes.
During Thursday morning the minister lay upon his library sofa, while Regina read aloud for several hours, but in the afternoon, receiving a summons to attend a sick man belonging to his church, he persisted in walking to a distant part of the town, to discharge what he considered a clerical obligation.
In vain Regina protested, a.s.suring him that the heat and fatigue would completely prostrate him. He only smiled, patted her head, and said cheerfully as he put on his hat: