He quickly stopped me. "No! No! Mr. Jamison! Mars Jack's been wearin' masks all dese long years. He's been hidin' from men. No man must' know his las' restin' place. No man but you an' me."
I honored this tender solicitude for his master's secret and at once acquiesced, telling him that, when Mrs. Felden's condition would admit of our both leaving her, I would aid him in his pious endeavors.
"Dat's right Mr. Jamison, me an' you must nuss dat darlin' chile—you an' me an' her an' Dinah knows his secrut. You an' me an' her an' Dinah mus' keep his secrut to our graves. If eny body helps us here, de officers and de newspapers'll be sticking dar oar in. I'd ruther see you an' Miss Rita down dar along side 'er Mars Jack, dan anybody should meddle in his matters."
He said this in subdued tones, but there was on his face a gleam of almost savage determination.
The next day Mrs. Felden was perfectly calm; her mind apparently clear, but there was a far away expression in her eyes that gave me uneasiness.
When Jim had removed the little breakfast table from her bedside, she said, "I am strong to-day, Jim; see how calm I am. I can hear and bear everything, as my husband's wife should do."
He told her all he had discovered, to the minutest detail. He controlled his voice and manner so as not to show the deep emotion with which his loving heart was almost breaking. His voice was low, sweet, and sympathetic. Having finished his account, he said, "Now chile, be a brave good woman. 'Member what a great big man Mars Jack was, an' how he loved his wife mor'n hisself. He's up thar, Miss Rita; his eyes is clar, for Jesus is by his side and makes him see everything; he sees you dis minit, an' knows you'll soon be beside 'im. Don't let him see you miserble."
Mrs. Felden's calmness astonished me. She listened in silence; tears rolled down her cheeks; her breast heaved with low deep sighs, but there was a strange light in her eyes, which looked afar off, and seemed to see her husband as the man described him. When the faithful negro had finished, he had her hand in his. For long minutes she uttered not a word. Her spirit was in that far off land beyond the skies or more probably at the foot of the rock. We watched her in silence.
At last she said, "Jim is right, Mr. Jamison. If my husband could speak to us now, he would bid us keep his secret." Her keenly atuned ears had evidently overheard Jim when he so urgently insisted that no one should help us.
"No one must know what has happened—no one but ourselves; we must do all. I will help for I am strong now. A few loggers have passed our camp, if they come again and make any inquiries, they must be made to believe my husband has gone away, and that he is coming back. No human being must ever know our grave," she quickly added, "where he sleeps."