"That man—you mean that man!" cried Katharine, shrinking back in the bed with a look of affright. "Did the neighbors put him here to watch me? Why?"
"They fear you will attempt to escape!"
"Escape where? Is not this my home?"
The old woman wrung her hands in bitter agony. This scene was racking every nerve in her body. That young creature had not fully comprehended that which no mother living could have told. All her own strength was exhausted—she had no fortitude left. Katharine lay with her great, wild eyes searching her mother's face, as it fell helplessly downward upon her bosom.
"Mother, if the neighbors believe this, what will they do to me?"
"Kill you, my poor lamb!" the woman whispered.
Katharine did not seem to feel this so keenly as other things that had been said; it was beyond her comprehension—she could not realize it.
"No, mother, that can never be. God knows all things!"
The young creature almost smiled as she said this, and closing her eyes turned her face to the wall.
It was strange that, in all her trouble, she never once alluded to Thrasher with an idea of protection, or seemed to have any hope of succor from him. The letter he had sent left no impression on her memory, but some more subtle intuition possessed her soul, and this secret second-sense held all hope in check. This half supernatural feeling also had doubtless given vague after-shadowings of her child's death without absolutely awakening her consciousness, for when the terrible truth was revealed to her she seemed struggling to remember something that had gone before.