Luther Hansen looked at her pityingly and shook his head.
“There are some things we have to settle for ourselves, Lizzie, and this is one of them for you. I do know,” he said trustfully, “whatever you do ’ll be right.”
The interview was ended. Luther helped Elizabeth to her feet, and went away to his own house and waiting chores, leaving the question with her—Elizabeth Hunter—whose life had been punctuated with interrogation points.
Elizabeth walked back slowly, going over every hint and suggestion to be gained from Luther’s discussion of her situation. Nothing was clear except that whatever her decision, it must be the nearest right of anything she was able to understand. She remembered as she stopped to fasten the barnyard gate behind her that Luther had said as he left her:
“He’ll go away as soon as he is able, you say, Lizzie,” and she remembered the lingering tones of fondness in Luther’s voice when Hugh’s name was mentioned.
It was not easy for Luther to say, let him die, either.
Elizabeth remembered at that point that Hugh’s medicine was long overdue, that medicine was more important just now than any of the questions with which she had been struggling. With a frightened little cry she ran to the house and to the sick-chamber.
“Never mind, Elizabeth,” Hugh said when he saw her shuffling the papers about in search of the bottle. “Jack came in and I had Hepsie give it to me. I’ve decided that it isn’t a good plan to have it there, and I’ll keep it under my pillow hereafter.”
“I—I went out with Luther, Hugh, and I didn’t realize that I was gone so long. You’ve missed two doses!” She noticed that Hugh called her by her given name altogether now.
Hugh laughed a sad little laugh.