XII
SOUNDS IN THE NIGHT
Dearest Mother:
Where could we go that disgrace would not follow us? Let us
then accept the judge's offer. I am the more inclined to do
this because of the possible hope that some day he may come
to care for me and allow me to make life a little brighter
for him. The fact that for some mysterious reason he feels
himself cut off from all intercourse with his son, may prove
a bond of sympathy between us. I, too, am cut off from all
companionship with Oliver. Between us also a wall is raised.
Do not mind that tear-drop, mamma. It is the last.
Kisses for my comforter. Come soon.
REUTHER.
Over this letter Deborah Scoville sat for two hours, then she rang for Mrs. Yardley.
The maid who answered her summons surveyed her in amazement. It was the first time that she had seen her uncovered face.
Mrs. Yardley was not long in coming up.
"Mrs. Averill—" she began in a sort of fluster, as she met her strange guest's quiet eye.
But she got no further. That guest had a correction to make.
"My name is not Averill," she protested. "You must excuse the temporary deception. It is Scoville. I once occupied your present position in this house."
Mrs. Yardley had heard all about the Scovilles; and, while a flush rose to her cheeks, her eyes snapped with sudden interest.
"Ah!" came in quick exclamation, followed, however, by an apologetic cough and the somewhat forced and conventional remark: "You find the place changed, no doubt?"