She took up the hand-bell, and was about to sound an alarm for help, when her wrist was feebly grasped, and her name faintly called.
“Adah—no—don’t ring! Wait—I shall recover presently. Give me—time,” whispered Hereward, making a great effort to rally.
After a little while he said:
“If what you tell me is true—and I have no reason to doubt your word—then it was really the body of that poor girl which was found in the creek, and your mistress is still living. But, Adah, I commend your discretion in keeping silent so long; and I advise you to the same course. Speak to no one of this matter. Let it remain for the present a secret between you and me.”
Old Adah, highly flattered by the thought of having a secret in common with her master, kept from all the rest of the world, warmly responded:
“I kep’ dat secret to myse’f all dis time, waitin’ fo’ yer to be well ’nuff to hear it, an’ I will keep on keepin’ it, marster, an’ red hot pinchers shouldn’ pull it out’n me till yer say so.”
“I do not want any more neighborhood gossip or excitement over this matter. I do not want the sacred name of my wife bandied about from mouth to mouth in speculating as to what has become of her. I must confer with my own tried and trusty friends and the local authorities, and we must take counsel together. You understand, Adah?”
“Surely, surely, young marster, I unnerstan’s so puffect dat dat wor de reason w’y I kep’ wot I kno’d to myse’f till I could tell it to yo’, Marse Tudor.”
“Very well. Now I think I must be alone for a little while. Do you go into the kitchen and tell Nancy or Cassy to give you—whatever you would like in the way of refreshments.”
“Tank yer, Marse Tudor; I will go. Yer was allers so ’siderate to de po’,” gratefully replied the woman, as she stooped and picked up her stick, slowly arose and hobbled away towards the rear of the house.