But she went on, hurriedly:
“It was fever, and it went to his head, and he talked and raved. His daughter came from the city and nursed him, and she has heard him talking, talking, talking, all the time—talking about you, and how you saved him from the fire; talking about a woman who is dead and a man who is alive, and a girl—”
“Does Elva Barrett—know?” he demanded, hoarsely.
“It was too plain not to know—after she saw that girl, Mr. Wade. The girl was there at our house—she is there now. It isn’t all clear to us yet. We have only the ravings of a sick man—and the face of that girl. Father doesn’t understand all of it, either. But he knows that you do, although you haven’t told him.” She clutched her trembling hands to hold them steady. “And he has talked and talked of other things, Mr. Wade—the sick man has. He has said that you have his reputation, and his prospects, and the happiness of his family all in your hands, and that you are waiting to ruin him because he has abused you; and he has tossed in his bed and begged some one to come to you and promise you—buy you—coax you—”
“It’s a cursed lie—infernal, though a sick man babble it!” Wade cried, heart-brokenly. “It holds me up as a blackmailer, Miss Nina. It makes me seem a wretch in Elva’s eyes. And yet—was she—was she coming here thinking I was that kind—coming here to beg for her father?” he demanded.
“We—I—oh, I don’t like to tell you we believed that of you,” the girl sobbed. “No, I didn’t believe it. But if you had only heard him lying there talking, talking! And you were the one that he seemed to fear. And we thought if you knew of it you wouldn’t want him to worry that way. And if we could carry back some word of comfort from you to him—She wanted to come to you, Mr. Wade, and I encouraged her and helped her to come—because—because—” The girl caught her breath in a long sob, and cried: “She loves you, Mr. Wade! And I’ve pitied you and her ever since that day in the train when I found out about it.”
It was not a moment to analyze emotions. Nina Ide, in her ingenuous declaration of Elva Barrett’s motives in seeking him, had made his heart for an instant blaze with joy. For that instant he forgot the shame of the baseless babblings of the sick man, the awful mystery of Elva Barrett’s disappearance. The blow of it—that Elva Barrett was gone—that she was somewhere in those woods alone, or worse than alone, had stunned him at first. Groping out of that misery, striving to realize what it meant, he had faced first the hideous thought that she might believe him mean enough to seek revenge. Then came the dazzling hope that Elva Barrett so loved him that she adventured—imprudently and recklessly, but none the less bravely—in order to make her love known. Then over all swept the black bitterness of the calamity.
“But you must have some suspicion—some hint how she was taken or how she went!” he cried. “In Heaven’s name, Miss Nina, think! think! You heard some outcry! There was some hidden rock or stump to jar the sled! The man did not search along the road far enough! She must be lost—lost!” and his voice rose almost to a shriek.
“There was no cry, Mr. Wade. And I went back with the man. We searched; we called—we even went as far as the place where we covered ourselves with the blankets. We could find no track, and the snow was driving and sifting. The man does not know it was Elva Barrett,” she added.
He suddenly remembered the driver’s statement.