She paused a single instant longer, and then, with a firm, decisive bearing, turned and passed quietly down the stairway.
"What in the world has kept you?" Mr. Hearn asked, a trifle impatiently.
"Can you tell me where Reuben is?" she answered, in a clear, firm voice, that she knew I must hear.
"What does thee want, Emily?" cried Reuben from the piazza.
"Mr. Morton wishes to see you," she replied, in the same tone that she would have used had my name been Mrs. Yocomb's, and then she passed out with her affianced.
Reuben almost ran over me as he came bounding up the stairs.
"Hold on, old fellow," I whispered, and I pulled him down beside me. "Can you keep a secret? I'm played out—Reuben—to speak elegantly—and I don't wish a soul to know it. I'm sitting very—comfortably on this step—you see—that's the way it looks—but I'm stuck—hard aground—you'll have to tow me off. But not a word, remember. Lift me up—let me get my arm around your neck—there. Lucky I'm not heavy—slow and easy now—that's it. Ah, thank the Lord! I'm in my refuge again. I felt like a scotched snake that couldn't wriggle back to its hole. Hand me that brandy there—like a good fellow. Now I won't kelp you—any longer. If you care—for me—never speak of this."
"Please let me tell mother?"
"No, indeed."
"But doesn't Emily Warren know?"