"You ask why. John Henry wouldn't ask why, nor yet Peter, nor Avis."
"I love my father a long sight better than they do; and I'm full of a great wanting to make him happier; and so's mother—full of a great wanting to do it too. And father's full of a cruel, fierce wanting to make her a bit happier if only he could get to her. And if he knew she was dying and longed to see him——"
Auna broke down and wept bitterly, while Mrs. Huxam considered. She pretended to assume a situation not as yet attained.
"Don't cry, but do your duty like a good girl, and leave the rest in Higher Hands, as we all must. There's a holy word that tells how a 'backbiting tongue hath cast out virtuous women, and deprived them of their labours; and whoso harkeneth to it shall never find rest.' That's what you are doing now, Auna, and neighbouring with one whose sentence is known and understood. But your Saviour may rescue you yet I hope. All you need to do now is to think on your poor, wronged mother, who has been deprived of her labours and is going to die. But she mustn't be robbed of her heavenly home as well—not by any word of yours. And so you promise, on your word of honour before God Almighty, not to tell your father, or any other living creature, what you heard from mother's lips this morning."
Auna began to see the object of this solemn command.
"You think that father, knowing that, would dash to dear mother willy-nilly?" she asked.
This, indeed, was the terror that now crowded close over Judith. She spoke and thought with absolute sincerity, believing that any contact with Jacob Bullstone now might largely endanger her daughter's hope of salvation. Indeed she felt the peril to be terrific—a direct encounter between herself and the Powers of Darkness. They were hard at work, as she expected them to be. Even did Auna finally give her word, such was the girl's apparent reaction to the influence of her father, that Mrs. Huxam already looked ahead and planned the next step. She was not going to trust her granddaughter in any case. Auna at least perceived the immediate peril and her grandmother answered her question.
"I fear it; for these awful threats are allowed by God," Judith replied. "I think if your lost father was to hear this, a great and terrible thing might happen, for he'd believe that it was your mother's real voice, because his eyes are darkened to truth, and he'd think this devil's message came from herself. The devil says that the next best thing to getting your mother back to Red House is to let your father know she wanted to come back. Therefore I'll beg you this instant moment, Auna, to promise me before the great, living God that you'll be dumb about it and not act the devil's messenger. Why do you hesitate? What are you made of? Is your mother's soul nothing to you?"
Judith went down on her knees and drew Auna beside her; but still the girl did not speak. She had not the bent of mind to echo the attitude of her grandmother, or respond to the awful convictions of the elder. But she was impressed. She knew that her grandmother had a deep knowledge of the next world, and she believed very firmly indeed that there were such places as heaven and hell. The idea that her mother might by the remotest possibility lose heaven, stung Auna sharply. From sorrow and terror, she began to grow dazed at this terrible glimpse into the snares that awaited even saintly souls. Was it possible that not her sad-eyed mother, but a crafty fiend lurking behind her pale lips, had said these things? For a moment she forgot her father, and then, under the stressful words of Judith, she promised not to tell him. But the very act of promising brought him back to her. Whether a devil had spoken them or not, it was very certain that the words she had heard from her mother would be of the utmost consolation and comfort to her father. That Auna knew exceedingly well; yet she had now promised; and she hated her grandmother as her young heart had never before hated any living thing.
Having sworn, she escaped without another word, and Judith perceiving the girl's suffering and hearing the panting indignation that followed her surrender, felt very far from certain that she would keep her oath. She believed that, as surely as Jacob Bullstone heard his wife had tried to come back to him, he would return to her and force his way into her presence, with the strength of a madman if need be; and she knew that between that inevitable sequel, with its possible consequences for Margery, there stood only the exceeding frail barrier of a wayward grandchild's promise. It was not enough for any margin of security and every mental energy must now be poured into the problem now confronting her—so Judith felt. She fell upon her knees again and remained for half an hour as motionless as the chair over which she bent. Then she rose, her mind affirmed and her decision taken. She perceived that an issue so tremendous could not be left to the doubtful honour of Auna, while she herself might take more certain steps to protect her child.