Knowing that this little family jar would result in no serious harm to her idolized son, Mrs. Trent lay still and thought, but did not sleep. How could she? What a subtle thing is suggestion!
Poor, overburdened Gabriella Trent had known and trusted old Epbraim Marsh for many years; yet the words of Antonio, and now of this stranger within her gates, lingered in her memory and would not then leave.
Up in his pleasant guest chamber Mr. Hale felt within himself the increasing vigor of returning health, tempered for the moment, it may be, by a little indiscretion of diet; yet the assertion of that noisy old woman below stairs, that he was, despite all, on the verge of some serious illness, so worked upon his still weakened nerves that he could neither sleep nor forget them.
The result in both cases was unfortunate.
That evening Mrs. Trent forbade her daughter the rifle practice for which, promply on his return, Ephraim had made special preparation. Her refusal hurt the old fellow, already sensitive from a previous injury, and he reflected, bitterly, as he once more sought his monkish chamber:
“After all, whoever dismissed me was right. I’m too old for use. I’d better never have come back.”
As for Mr. Hale, brooding and an unwise exposure to the night air on the previous evening, did bring on a slight fever. Worriment increased this and, like many men, he was impatient under suffering; so that when his bell rang sharply, demanding attention, he was in a fair way to require all that Aunt Sally or any other had to give.
Meanwhile, down at the adobe quarters, other suspicions were rife.
“What is that man doing here, any way? He don’t tell his business, and he’s asked a power of questions. He’s wormed out of one and another of us all there is to learn about this ranch, and he hasn’t let on a single thing about himself, except that he’s a lawyer from New York. New York’s a big village and all lawyers can lie. I’m bound to sound that chap before I’m many hours older,” said Joe Dean, bringing his hands down heavily upon the table.
“I know a trick worth two of that. Set mother on him!” cried John Benton, gayly. “She’ll ask more questions to the square inch than any other human being I ever met, and she’ll have all his business, family history, and present undertakings out of him before he can say Jack Robinson. Lucky for us she got that itching foot just when she did.”