“She came in Kate Arden’s clothes,” confided the girl. “Those who saw her ride out of Castonia, Mr. Wade, thought it was Kate Arden. And Kate Arden, in Elva Barrett’s dress, is sitting now beside John Barrett, holding his hand, and his daughter’s face has soothed him. He thinks it is his daughter beside him. They are so like, Kate and Elva. We waited until we had made sure. It was my plan. And Kate obeyed me. I don’t know what she is thinking of. She is sullen and silent, but she took the place by his bed when I told her to. Then it could not be said that John Barrett’s daughter had come seeking Dwight Wade.”
Even in this stress he could still feel gratitude for the subterfuge that checked the tongues of gossip.
“I wish father had more authority over me,” sobbed the girl. “He wouldn’t have let us come on such a crazy errand if I hadn’t bossed him into it.” The lament was so guilelessly feminine that Wade put aside his own woe for the moment to think of the girl’s distress.
“This will be your home until I can send you back, Miss Nina,” he said, gently. “I will have old Christopher bring in your supper and mend your fire.”
“And about her, Mr. Wade?” she cried.
“I’m going,” he said, simply, but with such earnestness that her eyes flooded again with tears.