Part 54 (2/2)
”Yes, sister; I lee'd to ye. It's been a heavy sin on my soul an' ye may well thank the Lord it's no been on yer ain. But hark ye noo. It's all come back to me. Here's the twenty pun' I gave him. It's come back wi' interest.” Proudly Jean drew from her bosom an envelope containing forty pounds in bank notes. ”Look ye, hoo he's doubl't it?” Again she laughed through her tears.
”And you know where he is--and can find him?”
”Yes, Hester, dear, I know. He took a new name. It was Robert Kater he called himsel'. So, there he's been pentin' pictures. Go, Hester, an'
find yer son, an' I'll find Richard. Ellen, ye'll have to do wi'
Tillie for a week an' a bit,--I'm going to Paris to find Richard.”
”Ye'll do nae sic' thing. Ye'll find him by post.”
”I'll trust to nae letter the noo, Ellen. Letters aften gang astray, but I'll no gang astray.”
”Oh, child, child! It's a sorrowful thing I'm lame an' can na' gang wi' ye. What are ye doin', Hester?”
”I'm hunting for the newspaper. Don't they put the railroad time-tables in the paper over here, or must I go to the station to inquire about trains?”
”Ye'd better ask at the station. I'll go wi' ye. Ye might boggle it by yersel'. Ring for Tillie, Jean. She can help me oot o' my chair an'
get me dressed, while ye're lookin' after yer ain packin', Jean.”
So the masterful old lady immediately began to superintend the hasty departure of both Hester and Jean. The whole procedure was unprecedented and wholly out of the normal course of things, but if duty called, they must go, whether she liked the thought of their going or not. So she sent Tillie to call a cab, and contented herself with bewailing the stubbornness of Peter, her nephew.
”It was aye so, whan he was a lad playin' wi' Jean an' Katherine, whiles whan his feyther lat his mither bring Katherine and him back to Scotland on a veesit. Jean and Katherine maun gie in til him if they liket it or no. I've watched them mony's the time, when he would haud them up in their play by the hour together, arguyin' which should be horse an' which should be driver, an' it was always Peter that won his way wi' them. Is the cab there, Tillie? Then gie me my crutch. Hester, are you ready? Jean, I'll find oot for ye all aboot the trains for Dover. Ye maun gang direc' an' no loiter by the way. Come, Hester. I doot she ought not to be goin' aboot alone. Paris is an' awfu' like place for a woman body to be goin' aboot alone. But it canna' be helpit. What's an old woman like me wi' only one sound leg and a pair o' crutches, to go on sic' like a journey?”
”If I could, I'd take you home with me, Aunt Ellen; if I were only sure of the outcome of this trouble, I would anyway--but to take you there to a home of sorrow--”
”There, Hester, dear. Don't ye greet. It's my opeenion ye're goin' to find yer son an' tak him in yer arms ance mair. Ye were never the right wife for Peter. I can see that. Ye're too saft an' gentle.”
”I'm thinking how Peter has borne this trouble alone, all these years, and suffered, trying to keep the sorrow from me.”
”Yes, dear, yes. Peter told us all aboot it whan he was here, an' he bade us not to lat ye ken a word aboot it, but to keep from ye all knowledge of it. Noo it's come to ye by way of this letter fra yer frien', an' I'm thinkin' it's the best way; for noo, at last ye ha'e it in ye're power to go an' maybe save an innocent man, for it's no like a son of our Katherine would be sic' like a base coward as to try to win oot from justice by lyin' himsel' intil his victim's own home.
I'll no think it.”
”Nor I, Aunt Ellen. It's unbelievable! And of Richard--no. I loved Richard. He was like my own son to me--and Peter Junior loved him, too. They may have quarreled--and even he might--in a moment of anger, he might have killed my boy,--but surely he would never do a thing like this. They are making some horrible mistake, or Mary Ballard would never have written me.”
”Noo ye're talkin' sense. Keep up courage an' never tak an' affliction upo' yersel' until it's thrust upo' ye by Providence.”
Thus good Aunt Ellen in her neat black bonnet and shawl and black mits, seated at Hester's side in the cab holding to her crutches, comforted and admonished her niece all the way to the station and back, and the next day she bravely bade Jean and Hester both good-by and settled herself in her armchair to wait patiently for news from them.
CHAPTER x.x.xIV
JEAN CRAIGMILE'S RETURN
When at last Jean Craigmile returned, a glance at her face was quite enough to convince Ellen that things had not gone well. She held her peace, however, until her sister had had time to remove her bonnet and her shawl and dress herself for the house, before she broke in upon Jean's grim silence. Then she said:--
”Weel, Jean. I'm thinkin' ye'd better oot wi' it.”
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