Finding that he could not move her, and must take his chance with the rest, Mr. Sheldon left the house in a very angry state of mind. When Judge White slighted him he had taken his revenge by withdrawing his money from the bank and creating a panic. Now he had no money to withdraw. It was gone—lost—and he had no redress, unless he took it on Grey himself.
“And he deserves it,” he said, as he drove into the village. “He or’to be made to tell what he did with the money, and then sent to prison. I’ll do my best to get him there, too.”
It did not take long for Mr. Sheldon to bring others beside himself into his state of mind. Something should be done to Grey, who was probably shamming sickness to keep out of sight. They’d call a meeting, anyway, and decide what to do.
The meeting was called for the next night, and, as it was not kept secret, the news reached Louie in the morning, brought by Nancy Sharp, who, having espoused the cause of the Greys, was taking the place of the cook, who had left, and kept them posted with whatever was being said or done in town, thinking it a kindness to do so. On this occasion her report was, of course, exaggerated. There was to be a meeting of the creditors in the village hall that night at half-past eight, she said, and they were going to decide when to arrest Mr. Grey and take him to prison; probably it would be the next day, or two days later at the farthest.
Lottie was white as death when she heard it. She had just come from her father’s room, where, since the day of the failure, he had lain, with his hands folded on his breast, his eyes closed, and seldom moving or speaking, except to Louie and his wife, who had insisted upon being with him, and was lying in the same room, almost as white and still as her husband. The blow had struck her hard, for her love for and faith in her husband had been great, and no suspicion whatever of his integrity had ever entered her mind. Now, in the light of recent revelations, she had begun to look backward, understanding some things which, in her confiding and rather weak nature, she had scarcely thought of before. Her love was the same for the erring man, but her faith in him was gone, and when, with outstretched hands, he had said to her when they first met, “Fanny! oh, Fanny, I am so sorry,” she had answered him, “Thomas, how could you, when we trusted you so?” Then she had collapsed entirely and gone into by hysterics, as she had done when she first heard the news. Now, however, she was more calm, and stayed in the room with him, while Louie ministered to them both.
On this morning, as if something had told him what was in the air, or else because he was delirious, her father had roused a little and said to her:
“Don’t let them, Louie. I shan’t last long, and it will do no good. It will not bring back their money.”
Louie had returned from her interview with Nancy, and her face grew whiter as she asked:
“Do what, father?”
“Oh-h, I don’t know. I think I was dreaming of prison and that they were taking me there; but you will save me,” he moaned.