“Very good; bring a pennyworth, and here is the money.”
As soon as Leuesa was out of hearing, Derette turned to Stephen with a changed expression on her face.
“Stephen!” she said, in a low whisper, “you have been to see after them. Tell me what you found.”
“I never said nought o’ the sort,” answered Stephen, rather staggered by his cousin’s penetration and directness.
“Maybe your heart said it to mine. You may trust me, Stephen. I would rather let out my life-blood than any secret which would injure them.”
“Well, you’re not far wrong, Derette. Gerard and Agnes are gone; they lie under the snow. So does Adelheid; but Berthold was not buried; I reckon he was one of the last. I cannot find Rudolph.”
“You have told me all but the one thing my heart yearns to know. Ermine?”
Stephen made no reply.
“You have found her!” said Derette. “Don’t tell me where. It is enough, if she lives. Keep silence.”
“Some folks are hard that you’d have looked to find soft,” answered Stephen, with apparent irrelevance; “and by times folk turn as soft as butter that you’d expect to be as hard as stones.”