The words rained on her like hailstones. Evelyn met them, standing erect, very white and still.
At last, "I do not grasp your meaning," she replied. "Every one in the district knows that my father is a very rich man."
"Not so." Maclane shook his head. "Every one knows the reverse; has always known it. Believe me, my child, what I tell you is true."
"My father's wealth does not exist." Evelyn's mind seemed to take slow, cautious steps backward over the minister's statements, with every impact feeling surer of the truth. "To-day he is absolutely penniless. Every one knows it; has always known it. Then why," she demanded with sudden passion, "has it been kept from me?"
"Out of kindness," replied Maclane, simply.
"Kindness!" Evelyn laughed scornfully, hysterically; calmed herself, then laughed again. "Kindness! When I recall how I used to brag of what my wealth would do for the place—and all the time, poor fool that I am, I have been the laughing-stock——"
"Again not so," emphatically said Maclane. "Think how quickly you fell into our primitive ways, becoming the heart and spirit of the camp. Believe me, Evelyn, you have endeared yourself, accomplished a thousand times as much by this year's bread-winning toil and good-fellowship as had you been the Lady Bountiful you started out to be. It isn't money that builds up camps, closing dives and opening reading-rooms—it's neighborliness—working and suffering with people, side by side. And in all his grief, remorse for your bitter disappointment, your poor father may take this comfort: that it has been the making of you as a woman, just as you, the real woman, have been the making of the camp."
"Thank you." Evelyn spoke in a hard little dry voice. "Some day I may bring myself to see it in that light." She took a few steps to and fro, then came to a standstill opposite the minister. "Mr. Maclane, I want you to give my love to the 'boys'—to all who, by their silence, have shielded me as they thought, from the painful truth. Tell them that I appreciate it. Also ask them to try not to show that they pity me. I'm going to do something that's not easy for me. It would be easiest to go away to a strange place, where I could hide my head—but I have my poor father to think of. I have a good business here, which will support us both decently, at least. I shall bring him here to care for him—and mind! not one word of reproach, or mockery, is he ever to hear from any one! Not one word!"
"Bravely spoken," cried Maclane. "Oh, there's happiness in store for you, my child. You'll see."
"Together, sweetheart!" Scarlett, who had been standing by in mute distress for her great trouble, now came to her and took her hand. "We'll fight it out together—you and I."