"She has started home," said Matthew slowly. "She says it is to stay."
For a long moment there was only the tick of the clock and the rumble of distant thunder. Then Ellen lifted her head.
"Would it help if I went away?"
Matthew leaned heavily against the table. His face was intensely white, his gray eyes darkened. The hand upon which he leaned trembled.
"I have a friend at the University with whom I can stay for any length of time. She'll be glad to have me till the term opens."
Matthew lifted his hand and examined the callous spots upon it. It had seemed to him that peace had descended upon his house. He believed that Ellen would stay with him if he needed her. He saw the peace continued, the old life restored, his children brought up correctly, himself contented. He longed intensely for Ellen's learning, for her outlook upon life. If she stayed he might yet repair the effect of his own madness. But like Ellen, he had been trained to follow a certain rule of conduct and he could not go counter to that which he had been taught.
"I guess I should bring her back," he said at last thickly. Then a quiver passed over his face. His sense of honor was of the variety which leads, if need be, to the stake. What he said was not easy to say. "Oh, I have many, many times wished for my father!"
In a few minutes his horse galloped down the lane. The lightning was now almost incessant and the thunder rumbled heavily. Standing at the door Ellen saw his white face against the side of the buggy. Then she went upstairs, and when she had closed the windows and looked in upon the sleeping children she began to pack her trunk.
In the morning she walked slowly down the road. Matthew had come back, and Millie would return later in the day. The storm had made all fresh; goldenrod was abloom along the fences. She thought with longing of Miss Grammer and of the deep Seminar room at the library. Work!—ah, that remained!