But Grace's conscience was made all the keener by her reawakened love. "Well, I'm goin' to tell Ma Cary," she said. "She knows more'n all of us put together."
They stopped at Eleanor's door, and the three found Mother Cary alone in the room that was kitchen and dining-room and confessional, as need arose. Pap had gone back to the doctor's house, too anxious to remain away.
Mother Cary heard all Grace had to tell, asked a few questions of her and Eleanor, then sat with her worn old hands clasped in her lap, thinking it over. Grace's attitude was one of hopeless waiting. Rosamund watched her, pitying; grief brings no outward beauty to the lowly, she thought, yet much—how much—of that beauty of soul which perishes not!
At last Mother Cary spoke. "Miss Rose is right," she said, looking at Grace. "Nobody must know what we know 'ceptin' jest our own selves. I wouldn't even say a word of it to Pap; 'cause the better men folks be, the more they hold on to the letter o' the law. An' fur as I can make out, this here is one o' the times when the letter o' the law is better forgotten. Tellin' on Joe ain't goin' to help Doctor Ogilvie any, that I can see, nor anybody else; an' there's jest a chanct that keepin' silence may help Joe."
"But Joe did it," Grace said. "I reckon he's man enough to take his punishment."
"I reckon he is," Mother Cary agreed. "He's a-takin' it right this minute, too, knowing what his act has done to the doctor. I sure do believe that's all the punishmint Joe needs. The other kind would be different, 'cause what he's done is done. I ain't never had time to puzzle out the whys an' whyfors o' lots o' things, punishmint among 'em; but one thing I know, an' have known ever sence the dear Lord entrusted me with little child'en o' my own. When punishmint is jest hittin' back, it don't do anybody a mite o' good. Less'n it helps 'em not to do it again, it ain't any use whatsoever. Better jest leave it in the hands o' the dear Lord, Who sees further'n we can, ef you ain't sure it's goin' to help, not hender. An' tellin' on Joe ain't goin' to help the doctor nor Joe neither, 'cause Joe ain't the kind that punishmint helps."
Again there was a silence, until Grace moved a little, unclasped and clasped her hands, and spoke. "I must go back to my own house," she said.
Rosamund, startled, was about to protest, but Mother Cary nodded. "Of course," she said, "he'll be needin' you awful bad now, honey."
And in spite of Rosamund's pleading, Grace refused Eleanor's offer to go with her, and took her way, alone, through the night, down the mountain, to her dark, lonely little house. Afterward, Rosamund often marveled at Mother Cary's allowing it, even urging it, for usually she was the gentlest of souls, protecting everyone, careful of everyone's comfort; and surely Grace was now in no condition to go.
But no more than Grace herself did Mother Cary hesitate. She hobbled about the kitchen, packing a little basket of food; she had Eleanor bring in one of Pap's lanterns, and lighted it; she bade Rosamund make Grace some tea, and forced the trembling creature to drink it; and at last she opened the door for her.