Nearly all that day Elithe stayed in bed, sometimes burning with fever, but oftener shivering with cold, which the ginger tea had not counteracted. She had experienced two great shocks in quick succession and was bodily and mentally unstrung. She saw Paul Ralston fire the fatal shot which had killed Jack Percy. No questioning or cross-questioning from her aunt could leave a doubt in her mind. She saw it and was filled with dread of what her having seen it might mean for her. Second to this, and nearly as great in its effect upon her, was the knowledge that Mr. Pennington was Jack Percy, in whom she knew there was much that was good, notwithstanding the ill that was spoken of him in Oak City.
In the dining room below Miss Hansford sat like a sentinel keeping people from going up to see Elithe and answering the questions put to her in the most non-committal manner. They kept coming all the morning and a part of the afternoon, bringing the news from time to time of what was being done at the Percy cottage. Paul was there with Clarice, who had refused to see any one and sat in a dark room crying all the time. There were to be short services at the house early the next day, and then the body was to be taken to Washington and buried at Beechwood, the old Percy homestead, which still belonged to the family. Mrs. Percy was nearly as bad as Clarice, and had a doctor in attendance.
To all this and more Miss Hansford listened, evincing no particular interest until the last bulletin was brought her to the effect that the bullet had been extracted and that they were still hunting for the revolver which the ball fitted, but could not find it.
“Some think now that it wasn’t suicide, if the jury did so decide. There’s queer things being talked which I don’t believe,” one caller said, with a meaning look at Miss Hansford, who knew that the train was fired which would certainly overtake Paul and crush him.
She was a woman of strong nerve, but this news unmanned her and she sat motionless in her chair, making no comment, and when her informer was gone, locking the door to keep out others who might come spying upon her misery. Would the man who found the revolver keep silent? She did not think so. He would tell. The weapon would be traced to its hiding place, and with its initials, “P. R.,” bear deadly evidence against her boy. She called him that many times, wondering what she ought to do and why he did not speak. And so the day wore on, and, late in the afternoon, Elithe, who had slept for two hours or more, insisted upon dressing herself and coming down to tea with her aunt. It was taken in the kitchen, with the shades down and the door bolted. Several times there had been knocks, which were not answered, but as they were finishing their supper there came one so loud and oft repeated that the door was opened tremblingly by Miss Hansford, who half expected to be met by an officer come to demand the revolver and perhaps to arrest her for complicity in the matter. It was a boy from the Percy cottage with a note from Clarice to Elithe.
“Miss E. Hansford,” it read: “There are some things relating to my poor brother which you alone can tell me. Will you come to me this evening? We leave to-morrow for Washington, and I must see you before I go. Hastily,—
“CLARICE PERCY.”
“Oh, I can’t go! What does she want?” Elithe said as she read the note aloud.
“Wants to know all about Jack. Natural enough. I thought ’twould come. You’ll have to stand it. I’ll go with you,” Miss Hansford replied, and, going to the boy waiting upon the doorstep, she bade him tell Miss Percy that Miss Hansford would call upon her between eight and nine. “It’ll be dark then. It’s raining now, thank the Lord,” she said to Elithe, whose chill increased at the thought of meeting Clarice and talking with her of Jack.
“What shall I say to her?” she asked her aunt.