Part 49 (2/2)
”What do you owe me, Mr. Morton?”
”I'm sure I don't know. Good-will, I suppose Mrs. Yocomb would suggest.”
”Well, sir, I feel that I owe you a great deal; perhaps more than I realize, as I recall your promptness on that memorable night of the storm.”
”I was prompt--I'll admit that,” I said grimly, looking at the ceiling.
”Mr. Yocomb, how long would it have taken the house to burn up if the fire had not been extinguished?” Mr. Hearn asked.
”The interior,” replied Mr. Yocomb very gravely, ”would all have been in flames in a very few moments, for it's old and dry.”
”Ugh!” exclaimed Adah, shudderingly. ”Richard--”
I put my finger on my lips. ”Miss Adah,” I interrupted, ”I'd rather be struck by lightning than hear any more about that night.”
”Yes,” said Miss Warren desperately, ”I wish I could forget that night forever.”
”I never wish to forget the expression on your face, Miss Warren, when we knew Zillah was alive. If that didn't please G.o.d, nothing in this world ever did.”
”Oh, hus.h.!.+” she cried.
”Emily, I think you cannot have told me all that happened.”
”I can't think of it any more,” she said; and her face was full of trouble. ”I certainly don't know, and have never thought how I looked.”
”Mr. Morton seems to have been cool enough to have been very observant,” said the banker keenly.
”I was wet enough to be cool, sir. Miss Warren said I was not fit to be seen, and the doctor bundled me out of the room, fearing I would frighten Zillah into hysterics. Hey, Zillah! what do you think of that?”
”I think the doctor was silly. I wouldn't be afraid of thee any more than of Emily.”
”Please let us talk and think of something else,” Miss Warren pleaded.
”I don't want to forget what I owe to Richard,” said Reuben a little indignantly. I trod on his foot under the table. ”Thee needn't try to stop me, Richard Morton,” continued the boy pa.s.sionately. ”I couldn't have got mother out alone, and I'd never left her. Where would we be, Emily Warren, if it hadn't been for Richard?”
”In heaven,” I said, laughing, for I was determined to prevent a scene.
”Well, I hope so,” Reuben muttered; ”but I don't mind being in mother's dining-room.”
Even Mrs. Yocomb's gravity gave way at this speech.
As we rose from the table, Zillah asked innocently:
”Emily, is thee crying or laughing?”
”I hardly know myself,” she faltered, and went hastily to her room; but she soon came down again, looking very resolute.
”Emily,” said Mr. Yocomb, ”since thee and mother doesn't think music's wicked, I have a wonderful desire to hear thee sing again, 'Tell me the Old, Old Story,' as thee did on the night of the storm.”
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