Going to the table she opened her portfolio, the gift of Guy, and wrote to him what the neighbors were saying, and that he must come there no more; at least, only once in a great while, because, if he did, she could not see him. Then, when this was written she went down to Uncle Joseph, who was beginning to call for her, and sat by him as usual, singing to him the songs he loved so well, and which this night pleased him especially, because the voice which sang them was so plaintive, so full of woe. Would he never go to sleep, or the hand which held hers so firmly relax its hold? Never, it seemed to Maddy, who sat and sang, while the night-bird on a distant tree, awakened by the low song, uttered a responsive note, and the hours crept on to midnight. Human nature could endure no more, and when the crazy man said to her, “Now sing of Him who died on Calvary,” Maddy’s answer was a gaping cry as she fell fainting on the pillow.
“It was only a nervous headache,” she said to the frightened Flora, who came at Uncle Joseph’s call, and helped her young mistress up to bed. “She should be better in the morning, and she would rather be alone.”
So Flora left her, but went often to her door, until assured by the low breathing sound that Maddy was sleeping at last. It was a heavy sleep, and when Maddy awoke the pain in her temples was still there; she could not rise, and was half glad that she could not, inasmuch as her illness would be a reason why she could not see Guy if he came. She did not know he was there already, until she heard his voice speaking to her grandfather. It was later than she imagined, and he had ridden down early because he could not stay away.
“I can’t see him, Flora,” Maddy said, when the latter came up with the message that Mr. Remington was there with his buggy, and asked if a little ride would not do her good. “I can’t see him, but give him this,” and she placed in Flora’s hand the note, baptized with so many tears and prayers, and the contents of which made Guy furious; not at her, but at the neighbors, the inquisitive, ignorant, meddlesome neighbors, who had dared to talk of him, or to breathe a suspicious word against Maddy Clyde. He would make them sorry for it; they should take back every word; and they should beg Maddy’s forgiveness for the pain they had caused her.
All this, and much more, Guy thought, as, with Maddy’s note in his hand, he walked up and down the sitting-room, raging like a young lion, and threatening vengeance upon everybody. This was not the first intimation Guy had received of the people’s gossip, for only that morning Mrs. Noah had hinted that his course was not at all calculated to do Maddy any good, while Agnes had repeated to him some things which she had heard touching the frequency of his visits to Honedale; but these were nothing to the calmly-worded message which banished him effectually from Maddy’s presence. He knew Maddy, and he knew she meant what she wrote, but he could not have it so. He must see her; he would see her; and so for the next half hour Flora was the bearer of written messages to and from Maddy’s room; messages of earnest entreaty on the one hand, and of firm denial on the other. At last Maddy wrote:
“If you care for me in the least, or for my respect, leave me, and do not come again until I send for you. I am not insensible to your kindness. I feel it all; but the world is nearer right than you suppose. It does not look well for you to come here so much, and I prefer that you should not. Justice to Lucy requires that you stay away.”
That roused Guy’s pride, and writing back:
“You shall be obeyed. Good-bye!”—he sprang into his buggy, and Maddy heard him as he drove furiously away.
Those were long, dreary days which followed, and but for her grandfather’s increasing feebleness Maddy would almost have died. Anxiety for him, however, kept her from dwelling too much upon herself, but the excitement and the care wore upon her sadly, robbing her eye of its luster and her cheek of its remaining bloom, and making Mrs. Noah cry when she came one day with Jessie to see how they were getting on. She had heard from Guy of his banishment, and now that he staid away, she was ready to step in; so she came laden with sympathy and other more substantial comforts brought from Aikenside.
Maddy was glad to see her, and for a time cried softly on her bosom, while Mrs. Noah’s tears kept company with hers. Not a word was said of Guy, except when Jessie told her that “he had gone to Boston, and it was so stupid at home without him.”