She threw into those last words an intensity, a weight of meaning that startled even Archie, who whimpered out,—"It wasn't my fault!"
Adelle neither knew nor cared then what had caused the fire. It was stupid of Archie to understand her so badly—she was not blaming him for the fire. She turned her face again to the wall, but suddenly, as if a light had struck through her blurred and blunted consciousness of the world, she called,—
"I want to see him—Clark, the mason;—tell him to come here to see me!"
Archie, crestfallen, sneaked out of the orangery on her errand. After a time he returned with the young mason, who stumbled into the dark room. Clark was washed and his cut had been bandaged, but he showed the terrible strain of those few minutes on the wall. His face twitched and his large hands opened and closed nervously. He looked pityingly at Adelle and mumbled,—
"Sorry I was too late!"
That was all. Adelle made a gesture as if to say that it was useless to use words over it. She did not thank him. She looked at him out of her gray eyes, now miserable with pain. She felt a great relief at seeing him, a curious return of her old interest in his simple, native strength and nerve, his personality. It made her feel more like herself to have him there and to know that he was sorry for her. After one or two attempts to find her voice she said clearly,—
"I must tell you something.... I thought of telling you about it before, but I couldn't. I thought there were reasons not to. But now I must tell you before you go."
"Don't trouble yourself now, ma'am," the mason said gently. "I guess it'll keep until you're feelin' stronger."
"No, no, I can't wait. I must tell you now!" She raised herself with effort and leaned her thin face upon her hands. "I want him"—she pointed to Archie—"to hear it, too."
Then she tried again to collect her mind, to phrase what she had to say in the clearest possible way.