"What did the girl tell you!" cried her son.
She clutched her breast, her lips moved, but no sound emerged.
Rufus saw that she was too frightened to speak.
"Don't be scared," he said roughly. "All you've got to do is to tell me the truth." He made a mighty effort to control his rasping voice. "Did you know Geraldine was goin' away?"
Mrs. Carder shook her head speechlessly.
"Sit up, Ma. Talk if you've got any sense. What did the girl tell you? Why was she dressin' up every day?"
"I—I thought"—stammered Mrs. Carder, "I thought she wanted to look pretty. I—I thought you were goin' to marry her. She never told me anything. Gone away?" Some curiosity struggled through the old woman's paralyzing fear. "How could she go away? She hadn't any hat on." She spoke tremulously.
"Come up to her room," said Rufus sternly.
He flung his gun into a corner and strode toward the stairs, the shaky old woman following him.
Up in Geraldine's chamber he stood still for a moment scowling and viewing its neatness, then strode to the closet and opened the door. Her shabby suit was hanging there, and the pale-green challie gown she had worn in his office. He grasped its soft folds in crushing fingers. The gingham dress in which she worked every morning was also hanging on its hook. Her hat was on the shelf. That was all. Her few toilet articles were neatly arranged on the shabby old bureau. He opened its drawers and tossed their meager contents ruthlessly, searching for some letter or scrap of paper to throw light on her exit. He went to the trunk which contained some sheets of music and a few books. These he scattered about searching, searching between their leaves.