“Let us find that splendid old man at once. We cannot accept his sacrifice, but we must hasten to show him we appreciate it.”
Ephraim was polishing his rifle in his own room when they came to him, and rose to welcome the unusual visit of the lady with more awkwardness than he commonly displayed. It was an honor she was doing him, yet he had far rather she had not come.
But he was forced back into his chair by Jessica’s assault of clinging arms and raining kisses, and, catching sight of the parcel in her hand, began to understand.
“Oh, you splendid, darling, generous Ephraim! I can never, never thank you enough for doing this for me, but I could not ever possibly take it. Why, there must be hundreds of dollars there, my mother says, and that would mean almost all the years you’ve ever lived at Sobrante. I never knew anybody with such a heart as you, dear Ephraim.”
The poor old fellow was far more distressed by her rejection of his gift than she could guess. His face drooped, he worked his hands and feet uneasily, he shifted his seat, and behaved in altogether a new fashion for the man who had hitherto borne himself so simply and naturally. Then the old suspicion returned to sting his loving heart, and he glanced up to study his mistress’ face. To his surprise he saw it wet with tears, and that she was holding out her thin, labor-hardened hands to clasp his own.
“Ephraim Marsh, you have done me more good than money could bring. You have renewed my faith in mankind. In a world where live such men as you justice will be done the memory of my dead husband. I thank you.”
“Don’t–don’t mention it, Mrs. Trent. I wish it had been double, as it ought, only––”
“Ephraim, mother says we may go. You and I, as you said, ‘together,’ to make everything straight.”
“What? You’ve told her then, Lady Jess.”
“Of course. Or she guessed. How could I keep anything from my mother? And she’s quite willing.”