What was she to do? John never saw anything except in the light of his own instincts and emotions, and an idea or a prejudice once fixed in his mind could be uprooted by nothing but death; therefore to confess to him and thereby make it possible to get away from Hugh would prejudice him against Hugh, whom he would be certain to think had stolen something to which he alone had the right, and against her whom he felt that he possessed, and upon whom he could wreak almost any form of public revenge. Hugh had tried to get away and John had himself held him, but John could not remember that nor listen to it if told. Every effort had been made by Hugh to avoid Elizabeth since he had found out the true situation, but nothing would convince John of that. Had John Hunter the right then, being the kind of man he was, to a confession from her that would confuse the whole issue and do vital wrong to everybody concerned, including the baby, who must suffer with the mother who would be made to seem much worse than she was. This Elizabeth Hunter asked herself daily, and with the fear that her conscience would force her to confession should she permit any demonstration of affection, and to avoid any possibility of it, she became colder and colder in her manner toward the sick man.
The effort to keep off dangerous ground was disastrous, for Hugh instantly misunderstood it, and the gloom which settled over him increased the difficulties with which Elizabeth had to contend. Doctor Morgan saw that his patient, who had seemed slightly better, fell back again, and he worried about his despondent condition.
“Cheer him up, Mrs. Hunter! Read to him! Anything!” he would exclaim. “He’s got to have peace of mind, or there’s no hope in the world of his recovery. Something more ’n staved-in ribs is keeping him down,” the doctor urged, not knowing that he laid impossible burdens on shoulders too young to bear them.
The two duties, the one to her husband and the one to her patient, stared her in the face, and she had no one with whom to advise or consult.
“I don’t care! His life’s worth more than for me to approve of myself as a wife,” she decided at last, and yet when she gave Hugh his next dose of medicine she was colder and more on her guard than ever.
Luther Hansen came to see Hugh that afternoon. Elizabeth received an inspiration when he started away and followed him out of the house.
“Luther, will he die?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Lizzie,” Luther said quietly, not knowing what to say to such a question, and too honest to evade.
At the time of the accident to the binder, when Elizabeth knelt, broken with exhaustion and terror, looking at the man she loved who lay under the mass of machinery with the colour of death upon him, no one but a blind man could have mistaken the utter abandonment of her grief, and certainly of all men Luther was not blind. Now he recognized the heartache back of Elizabeth’s question and with an instinct to cheer was almost persuaded to answer in the negative. In his heart he thought Hugh would die. The rapidly failing strength of the man indicated that he would do so unless something came to buoy him up.
“I don’t know, Lizzie,” he added, as if squaring his conscience, “he looks so weak and troubled like.”