Marian had not expected this, and the tension of her nerves was hardly equal to the task of sitting there with Wilford Cameron opposite, his baby in her lap, his voice in her ear, and his eyes turned upon her as if curious to know what manner of woman she was. But the thick veil did its duty well, while the muffler answered the purpose intended; it changed the voice which was only natural once, and that when it addressed the baby, which began to grow restless as they drew near the depot. Then Wilford was reminded of Genevra, and the thought carried him across the sea, so that he forgot all else until the station was reached and he was busy, procuring checks and ticket. He saw her into the car, procuring for her a double seat, and speaking a word for her to the conductor, whom he knew. And this he did partly for Katy's sake, and partly because in spite of the plain attire he recognized the lady and felt that Marian Hazelton was no ordinary person. He offered her his hand, wondering why hers trembled so in his grasp, wondering why it was so cold, and wondering, too, why, if she had never been a wife, she wore that plain gold circlet which glittered upon her third finger.
"They certainly call her Miss Hazelton," he thought, as he bade her good-by and then left her alone, going back to the house which even to him seemed lonely, with all the paraphernalia of babyhood removed. Still, now that the worst was over, he rather enjoyed it, for Katy was free from care; there was nothing to hinder her gratifying his every wish, and with his spirits greatly enlivened as he reflected how satisfactory everything had been managed at the last, he proposed taking both Helen and Katy to the theatre that night. But Katy answered: "No, Wilford, not to-night; it seems too much like baby's funeral. I'll go next week, but not to-night."
So Katy had her way, but among the worshipers who next day knelt in Grace Church with words of prayer upon their lips, there was not one more in earnest than she whose only theme was, "My child, my darling child."
She did not get over it by Monday, as Mrs. Cameron had predicted. She did not get over it at all, though she went without a word where Wilford willed that she should go, and even Helen, with her sounder health and stronger constitution, grew tired of that endless round, which gave her scarcely a quiet hour at home. And Katy was a belle again, her name on every lip, her praise in every heart, for none could feel jealous, she bore her honors so meekly, wondering why people liked her so much and loving them because they did. And none admired her more than Helen, who, scarcely less a belle herself, yielded everything to her young sister whom she pitied while she admired, for nothing had power to draw one look from her blue eyes, the look which many observed, and which Helen knew sprang from the mother love, hungering for its child. Only once before had Helen seen a look like this, and that came to Morris' face on the sad night when she said to him, "It might have been." It had been there ever since, and Helen, though revering him before, felt that by the pangs with which that look was born he was a better man, just as Katy was growing better for that hunger in her heart. God was taking his own way to purify them both, but the process was going on and Helen watched it intently, wondering what the end would be.
CHAPTER XXVII.
AUNT BETSY GOES ON A JOURNEY.
Just through the woods, where Uncle Ephraim was wont to exercise old Whitey, was a narrow strip of land, extending from the highway to the pond, and fertile in nothing except the huckleberry bushes, where the large, dark fruit grew so abundantly, and the rocky ledges over which a few sheep roamed, seeking for the short grass and stunted herbs, which gave them a meager sustenance. As a whole it was comparatively valueless, but to Aunt Betsy Barlow it was of great importance, as it was her own—her property—her share—set off from the old estate—the land on which she paid taxes willingly—the real estate the deed of which was lying undisturbed in her hair trunk, where it had lain for years. Several dispositions the good old lady had mentally made of this property, sometimes dividing it equally between Helen and Katy, sometimes willing it all to the former, and again, when she thought of Mark Ray, leaving the interest of it to some missionary society in which she was greatly interested.
How then was the poor woman amazed and confounded when suddenly there appeared a claimant to her property; not the whole, but a part, and that part taking in the big sweet apple tree and the very best of the berry bushes, leaving her nothing but rocks and bogs, a pucker cherry tree, a patch of tansy, and one small tree, whose gnarly apples were not fit, she said, to feed the pigs.
Of course she was indignant, and all the more so because the claimant was prepared to prove that the line fence was not where it should be, but ran into his own dominions for the width of two or three rods, a fact he had just discovered by looking over a bundle of deeds, in which the boundaries of his own farm were clearly defined.