“I’m thinking how Peter has borne this trouble alone, 432 all these years, and suffered, trying to keep the sorrow from me.”
“Yes, dear, yes. Peter told us all aboot it whan he was here, an’ he bade us not to lat ye ken a word aboot it, but to keep from ye all knowledge of it. Noo it’s come to ye by way of this letter fra yer frien’, an’ I’m thinkin’ it’s the best way; for noo, at last ye ha’e it in ye’re power to go an’ maybe save an innocent man, for it’s no like a son of our Katherine would be sic’ like a base coward as to try to win oot from justice by lyin’ himsel’ intil his victim’s own home. I’ll no think it.”
“Nor I, Aunt Ellen. It’s unbelievable! And of Richard––no. I loved Richard. He was like my own son to me––and Peter Junior loved him, too. They may have quarreled––and even he might––in a moment of anger, he might have killed my boy,––but surely he would never do a thing like this. They are making some horrible mistake, or Mary Ballard would never have written me.”
“Noo ye’re talkin’ sense. Keep up courage an’ never tak an’ affliction upo’ yersel’ until it’s thrust upo’ ye by Providence.”
Thus good Aunt Ellen in her neat black bonnet and shawl and black mits, seated at Hester’s side in the cab holding to her crutches, comforted and admonished her niece all the way to the station and back, and the next day she bravely bade Jean and Hester both good-by and settled herself in her armchair to wait patiently for news from them.
CHAPTER XXXIV
JEAN CRAIGMILE’S RETURN
When at last Jean Craigmile returned, a glance at her face was quite enough to convince Ellen that things had not gone well. She held her peace, however, until her sister had had time to remove her bonnet and her shawl and dress herself for the house, before she broke in upon Jean’s grim silence. Then she said:––