Her parting with Clarice was not as loving as her greeting had been, for Clarice would not say she believed Paul wholly guiltless,—nor when she would go to see him.
“I don’t know what I believe. I feel as if I were turned into stone with all that has come upon me so suddenly,” she said, and with rather a cool good-bye Mrs. Ralston left her.
She was scarcely able to stand, and knew she ought to go home, but she must see Elithe first, and she ordered Tom to drive to Miss Hansford’s cottage. She found Miss Hansford having a cup of tea alone in the kitchen, and as it was past her lunch hour she took a cup with her, broaching at once the object of her visit. She had seen Paul and Clarice, and now she must see Elithe. Where was she?
“In her room, where she has staid the most of the time since they took him. She neither eats, nor sleeps, nor talks, nor sees any one,” Miss Hansford told her.
“She’ll see me; she must,” Mrs. Ralston said, in a tone Miss Hansford had never heard from her before. “They tell me she saw Paul shoot Mr. Percy. She is mistaken. He did not shoot him. If he is committed and there is a trial she will be the principal witness; her testimony will convict him, and it must not be.”
“Would you have her swear to a lie?” Miss Hansford asked, and Mrs. Ralston replied: “Certainly not, but I would convince her of her mistake,—persuade her not to be influenced by prejudice because she thinks he shot her lover.”
“Shot her lover! Great Heavens! What do you mean? Jack Percy was no more Elithe’s lover than he was mine,” Miss Hansford exclaimed, spilling her tea into her lap in her surprise.
Before Mrs. Ralston could reply a voice called down the stairs, “Auntie, I’m coming down; or no, let Mrs. Ralston come up; then if any one else calls I needn’t see them.”
A door from Elithe’s room opened directly at the head of the kitchen stairs, and without listening Elithe had heard all the conversation, cowering at first as from heavy blows and then growing surprised and indignant that she should be thought to be biased by a love for Jack Percy. She would clear herself of that suspicion and she asked Mrs. Ralston to come to her. Since the arrest she had refused to see any one, fearing lest something more than she had already said might be extorted from her and be used against Paul. Could she have left the island she would have gone, and she had begged her aunt to send her away, or go with her beyond the reach of lawyers and judges, and trials and subpœnas and constables, of which she had heard so much during Paul’s absence. But Miss Hansford knew better than to allow that. They must meet it, she said, and Elithe grew whiter and thinner every day with the fear of what was coming.
Mrs. Ralston found her sitting by the window from which she had talked with Paul and seen him fire the shot, and something in her heavy eyes and drooping attitude reminded her of a young girl hopelessly insane whom she had seen in the asylum at Worcester. She did not get up when Mrs. Ralston came in. She was so tired and sick and sorry that she did not want to move, and with a slight inclination of her head waited for Mrs. Ralston to speak, which she did at once, telling why she was there and saying: “It is not possible that you are right, and I want you to think it over carefully. Recall everything. Give my son the benefit of every doubt. Remember his life is involved and a few words from you might save him. Don’t let any personal feelings influence you because it was Mr. Percy who was shot.”