“But you have no authority, Mary.”
“No authority? She is my friend. I have a right to do my duty by her, and I can so put it that it will not be such a shock to her as it inevitably will be if matters go wrong, or Peter should be kept in prison for lack of evidence––or for too much evidence. She’ll have to know sooner or later.”
Bertrand said no more against this, for was not Mary often quite right? “I’ll see to it that he has a barber, and try to persuade the Elder to see him. That may settle it without any trouble. If not, I must see that he has a good lawyer to help in his defense.”
“If that savage old man remains stubborn, Hester must be here.”
“If the thing goes to a trial, Betty will have to appear against him.”
“Well, it mustn’t go to a trial, that’s all.”
That night two letters went out from Leauvite, one to Hester Craigmile at Aberdeen, Scotland, and one to the other end of the earth, where Larry Kildene waited for news of Harry King, there on the mountain top. On the 421 first of each month Larry rode down to the nearest point where letters could be sent, making a three days’ trip on horseback. His first trip brought nothing, because Harry had not sent his first letter in time to reach the station before Larry was well on his way back up the mountain. He would not delay his return, for fear of leaving the two women too long alone.
After Harry’s departure, Madam Manovska had grown restless, and once had wandered so far away as to cause them great alarm and a long search, when she was found, sitting close to the fall, apparently too weak and too dazed to move. This had so awakened Amalia’s fears that she never allowed her mother to leave the cabin alone, but always on one pretext or another accompanied her.
The situation was a difficult one for them all. If Amalia took her mother away to some town, as she wished to do, she feared for Madam Manovska’s sanity when she could not find her husband. And still, when she tried to tell her mother of her father’s death, she could not convince her of its truth. For a while she would seem to understand and believe it, but after a night’s rest she would go back to the old weary repetition of going to her husband and his need of her. Then it was all to go over again, day after day, until at last Amalia gave up, and allowed her mother the comfort of her belief: but all the more she had to invent pretexts for keeping her on the mountain. So she accepted Larry’s kindly advice and his earnestly offered hospitality and his comforting companionship, and remained, as, perforce, there was nothing else for her to do.