“I will not detain you, if you must go in,” he said, in a voice that was gentlest music to her ear. “Forgive me for keeping you so long. I know how conscientious you are, and how necessary you are to Hester. We understand one another. I will be very patient, dear, and considerate of those whose claims are older than mine. But there is one relation that outranks all others in the sight of God and man. That relation you hold to me. Don’t interrupt me, love! Nothing can alter the fact. Give me those!” as she stooped blindly for shawl and cushion. “It is my duty to relieve you of all burdens which you will permit me to carry for you. You would rather not have me go to the house with you?” interpreting her gesture and look. “Only to the gate, then? You see how reasonable I can be when possibilities are demanded.”
He made a remark upon the agreeable change in the weather within the last twenty-four hours, and upon the sweet repose of the Sabbath after the tumult of the National holiday, as they walked on, side by side. At the gate he stayed her with his frank, pleasant laugh.
“I have a confession I don’t mind making now. At half-past twelve o’clock last night I stood on this spot watching you. Thor and I were camping out in the orchard. It was too hot to go into the house. I heard a queer clicking, and saw a light in this direction, and came to look after Homer’s Jack-o’-lantern. Instead, I saw you at the study window, busy—oh! how wickedly busy—with the typewriter!”
He stopped abruptly, for the face into which he smiled was bloodless, the eyes aghast. She made a movement as if to grasp the shawl and pillow and rush away—then her forehead fell upon the hand that clutched at the pickets for steadiness.
“Are you angry?” pleaded March, amazed and humble. “If I had not loved you, I should not have been here. Was it an impertinent intrusion?”
“No! And I am not angry—only startled.” Her complexion was still ashy, and her tongue formed the syllables carefully. “I can understand that you must have thought strange of what you saw. But I am used to typewriting. I earned fifty dollars”—with mingled pride and defiance March thought engaging—“last winter by copying law papers. And I told you—everybody must know how poor we are.”
“I know more than that, dearest!” laying his hand over her cold fingers. “I surmised when I saw Mrs. Wayt dictating to you, what it meant.”
She was all herself again. In defense of her sister’s secret, as he imagined when she began to speak, she rallied her best forces. Her speech was grave, dignified, and direct.
“I do not know what you surmised. The truth is that Mr. Wayt was taken suddenly ill last night. His sermon must be ready by this morning. There was not time to get a substitute. So my sister found his notes. They were very full. She read them aloud to me. Nobody else can make them out. I copied the sermon with the machine from her dictation. You will understand that we would not like to have this spoken of. Good-evening!”
She was beyond reach in a moment, in another beyond call.