“Hush! We mustn’t have any excitement,” warned the doctor, thinking the old man’s mind, never considered strong, was leading him astray.
“Her mother! Her mother!” cried Hanson. “I can see her mother’s face! She is my daughter’s child—I know it. She has been restored to me! Oh, child, where is your mother?”
“Now—now!” protested Dr. Morse. “You can’t——”
But Hanson had pushed his way forward, and was now beside the wagon, in which Hadee lay on the mattress. There was a flush on her pale face.
“What does he mean?” she asked slowly.
“I don’t know,” answered Dr. Morse testily.
“I’ll explain!” said Hanson eagerly. “I’m not crazy—let me talk. Everybody doesn’t know my story—some around here do—you do, Dr. Morse. I tell you that girl is my daughter’s child. Tell me,” he appealed to Hadee, “do you know who your mother and father were?”
“They are both dead,” she said softly, “but I have been told that my mother was not a Gypsy.”
“Of course she was not!” cried Hanson. “She was my daughter, and she ran away and married a Gypsy—a handsome chap he was, too. It broke my heart—it made me lose all hope in life. But now my granddaughter is restored to me. And so you were the ghost of the mill?”
“I hid there after I ran away,” said Hadee. “I wouldn’t do as they wanted me to——”