"No," almost shouted Latimer, "and do not let us give the ugly thought shape even by suggestion. To a healthy-minded, responsible girl such as Poppea, the idea would not even occur, for suicide is the final proof of irresponsibility. That she may be wandering, dazed, in the bay marshes is my greatest fear; still, before we make a general hue and cry, let us go back to Gilbert's and ask him his exact wishes. Whoever may be her father after the flesh, Gilbert is now according to the law."
"Yes," seconded 'Lisha, "we'd best go back and ask Daddy, and keep a good lookout by the way. She may head for home after a while, but not have push enough to get there."
For the third time during the twelve hours the mood of the weather had changed. The wind had parted and banished the heavier snow clouds, and the moon, edging its way persistently through those that remained, made the lanterns that the three men carried almost unnecessary.
Oliver Gilbert had sorted and distributed the seven o'clock mail, closed the post-office at the earliest legal moment, and was sitting by the kitchen fire; that is, he sat there in the brief intervals when he was not peering from the window toward the road or listening at the different doors where the wind kept up a disconcerting tapping and rattling.
For the third time Satira Pegrim spread supper before her brother, but she had ceased urging him to eat. Mixing his coffee exactly to his taste, she set it close to his elbow and then silently left the room. As she closed the door at the bottom of the attic stairs and began a creaking ascent, Gilbert called after her: "Satiry, will you fetch the pair of little iron fire dogs from under the eaves when you come down? They lie to the north side under where the seed corn is hung."
Noticing the food apparently for the first time, he ate a few morsels, drank the coffee slowly, and then going to the side porch collected a large armful of logwood topped with kindlings which he proceeded to carry upstairs with no little difficulty, and coming in collision with his sister on the landing at the top.
"Sakes alive, man, what are you doing!" she cried, almost dropping the heavy andirons.
"I'm going to take out the chimney board in Poppy's room and start a fire so's it will look real cheerful when she comes home—for—she'll be tired and cold—most like. Mayhap the hearth'll need brushing," he added; "the swallows' nests always fall down of a winter."
The spare bedroom that was now Poppea's had an empty look, in spite of the bright-flowered wall paper and braided rugs. The straight white drapery at the windows, and on the old high-posted bed in which several generations had been ushered into the world, suggested ice and snow to Gilbert rather than a soft fabric.