As there had been nothing in the conversation of a confidential nature, Grace repeated it to Mrs. Brady, merely omitting Scott’s remarks about the dead man.
In silence Nettie listened to the end, then she asked,—
“Are you sure he said he could not remember where he left that stick?”
“Yes; he cannot even recollect where he went the day he lost it.”
“That seems strange, does not it?”
“I think not, if you consider what he has gone through. He looks starved and ill, and bewildered. Oh! Nettie, the Scotts must have suffered terribly.”
“I suppose so,” said Mrs. Brady absently, as she sat looking out of the window with sad, weary, wistful eyes; and finding she showed no desire to continue the subject, her friend let it drop. Suddenly, however, Nettie rose, threw her clasped hands above her head, and, with a sigh which was almost a groan, hurriedly left the room.
Miss Moffat had become too much accustomed to these demonstrations of restlessness or grief, or whatever else the cause might be, to attach much importance to them, but still she thought it better to follow Nettie whom she found in her own room sobbing as if her heart would break.
Grace softly closed the door, and left her.
“Let her cry, poor thing,” she thought. “It will do her good. After all, no matter what he may have been, he was her husband.”