He did, after a while. When he awoke it was Nabby who sat by the window. He asked her questions, but the replies were unsatisfying. The following day Reliance was again with him, but he did not question her. She was glad of the omission, but she could not understand it. He was gaining strength hourly and he was now perfectly rational. Why he did not subject her to the cross-examination she expected seemed queer. A week passed and still he did not do so. Nabby reported that he had not tried to learn anything from her.
“He’s thinkin’ it out himself,” she declared. “That would be his way. Some of these days he’ll dump down on both of us like a tipcart load of clamshells, see if he don’t.”
Which was precisely what he did. Reliance came into the room one morning and found him propped in the rocker and awaiting her.
“What have you done to Nabby Gifford?” she asked. “She looks scared to death. What have you been sayin’ to her?”
He did not reply. Instead he gave an order, in quite his old way.
“You sit down alongside here,” he commanded. “That’s right. Now then, let’s hear what you have got to say? Nabby has told me her end of the yarn and I dragged what I could out of the doctor. No, no! I’ll do the bulk of the talking. You can say yes or no. Do you understand?”
She smiled. “I shouldn’t wonder if I did, Foster,” she replied. “I’ll try to, anyway.”
“Humph! All right. Now then; is it true that you have been living in this house for three weeks or more? Taking care of me?”
“Helpin’ take care of you—yes. Nabby has done as much—or more.”
“What did you do that for?”