“One thing’s certain in my mind,” said Tom. “We know the man; and that ought to be a tower of strength. There’s no doubt it’s Philander Knox, and all his sucking up to us and pretended friendship is now explained.”
“We must get at him—for Lydia’s sake,” declared Mary. “She shan’t be trapped to her doom by an unknown creature like that if I can prevent it.”
“There’s surely something beastly to the man,” asserted Tom, “otherwise, after he’d once seen what my sister was in this house, he’d have understood it was a vain and selfish plot to try and get her out of it.”
“She’s always talking about the greatest good to the greatest number,” added Mary, “and now ’tis for her to practise what she preaches. Here there’s ten want her; and is one doubtful male, come from Lord knows where, to count against all her nearest and dearest? God forbid!”
“Well, I hope she’ll see it like that; and if she don’t, we must make it our business to queer that man’s pitch. If you and me, working heart and soul for our children and the family in general, can’t get this foreigner on the run, we’re not what I think we are.”
Next morning Mary was far too indisposed to rise, and before she went to work, Lydia took her up a cup of tea and three slices of toast and butter.
“I’ve decided, Mary,” she said, “and if it’s any comfort to you to know it, I may tell you that I shall stop here.”
Whereupon Mary wept again, held Mrs. Trivett’s hand and kissed it.
“Blessed be your name,” she gurgled, “and may God’s reward meet the case, Lydia. I’d give you all the kingdoms of earth if they was mine.”