At this moment Sally, who sat where she could see from the window, gave a sudden start and a half scream, and rising from the table, darted first to the window and then to the door, whence she rushed out eagerly.
"Well, what now?" said the Captain.
"I am sure I don't know what's come over her," said Mrs. Kittridge, rising to look out.
"Why, Aunt Roxy, do look; I believe to my soul that ar's Moses Pennel!"
And so it was. He met Sally, as she ran out, with a gloomy brow and scarcely a look even of recognition; but he seized her hand and wrung it in the stress of his emotion so that she almost screamed with the pain.
"Tell me, Sally," he said, "tell me the truth. I dared not go home without I knew. Those gossiping, lying reports are always exaggerated. They are dreadful exaggerations,—they frighten a sick person into the grave; but you have good sense and a hopeful, cheerful temper,—you must see and know how things are. Mara is not so very—very"—He held Sally's hand and looked at her with a burning eagerness. "Say, what do you think of her?"
"We all think that we cannot long keep her with us," said Sally. "And oh, Moses, I am so glad you have come."
"It's false,—it must be false," he said, violently; "nothing is more deceptive than these ideas that doctors and nurses pile on when a sensitive person is going down a little. I know Mara; everything depends on the mind with her. I shall wake her up out of this dream. She is not to die. She shall not die,—I come to save her."
"Oh, if you could!" said Sally, mournfully.
"It cannot be; it is not to be," he said again, as if to convince himself. "No such thing is to be thought of. Tell me, Sally, have you tried to keep up the cheerful side of things to her,—have you?"