"What is it, Bob?" she gasped; "what is it? Ye can tell me—I can bear it."
"I ain't got nothin' much to tell," he answered with a troubled air. "I war thinkin' ez you mought hev somethin' ter tell me. Sandy he come by an' said as how he mus' go down ter Gordonsville, he an' Jim Barker, on account o' the man ez fell over the ledge."
The shudder which passed through the woman's frame escaped Bob's notice, and he continued:
"He said ez how he mus' stay till th' inquist war over, an' moughtn't be back for a day or two, an' axed me fur ter keep ye comp'ny till he comes back."
"Till he comes back!" she repeated in a whisper.
She hid her face in her hands, and Bob, who, like Sandy, was used to Molly's strange ways, did not question her further.
Days, weeks and months passed away, and Sandy King had not returned. Jim Barker, who had seen him last, knew only that he had expressed an intention to remain a few days longer in the town, and all further inquiries revealed nothing more.
Bob remained with his sister, and, after the first few weeks of excitement, settled quietly down in charge of the little farm,—"until Sandy gits back," as he always took pains to declare.
This stoutly maintained contingency was regarded by the scattered inhabitants of that region with doubt and disbelief. Sandy's mysterious disappearance excited much comment, and gave rise to endless rumors and conjectures. The current belief, however, was, that being himself a man of peaceable habits, he had found his wife's temper too "cantankerous," and had gone in search of the peace denied him beneath his own roof, such an event having occurred more than once within the memory of the oldest inhabitant.
Molly knew nothing of all this. She never left her own door from the day of her husband's departure, and Bob,—warm-hearted fellow,—had stood valiantly between his sister and the prying eyes and sharp tongues which sought to pluck out the heart of her mystery, or apply venom to her bleeding wounds.