The son, who had half turned away, wheeled back again.
“Was that what killed him?” he demanded.
Old Sarah straightened herself with a supreme effort. The very strain of uttering a falsehood and of the dreadful secret which must darken her soul for the rest of her life gave to her words an added air of sincerity.
“He did n’t know,” she said. “He went off as peaceful as a child.”
Her son waited for nothing more, but once more hastened down the river-path. Hannah stood as if transfixed.
“But, Sarah,” she said, “I heard—”
Sarah looked at her with a wild regard. For a moment was silence.
“No,” she said, “you heard nothing. He did not say it!”
She leaned against the doorpost and looked at her right hand strangely, as if she expected to see blood on it. Then she stood erect again, squaring her shoulders as if to a burden accepted.
“Be still,” she said. “They’re coming.”