Of course he stayed. And Hannah, as she saw the last of her delicacies vanishing silently down the "Ogre's" lean, old throat, indulged in a bright vision of his eventual surrender.
But, having stuck to his principles for thirteen years, Mr. Prescott was not a man to change them in a moment of impulse. After that evening at his niece's he made no further reference to their affairs, and seemed quite oblivious of their difficulties. Some very narrow straits lay ahead of the Prescotts, and they had to deny themselves things that once their little income had allowed them.
Winter wore away into spring, and the girls went on doggedly with their tasks. Miss Bancroft had gone away for a month or so. They had been to see her several times during the winter, and she had dropped in to see Mrs. Prescott fairly often. There had been something very delightful in those few afternoons spent with her; for she was one of those charming old ladies who remain perennially girlish, and her interest and sympathy in their talk had won from them a very warm affection. Mr. Arnold had not appeared on the scenes during the entire winter and spring; having gone to England, Miss Bancroft had casually explained, for an indefinite stay. This intelligence had depressed Nancy unaccountably, but she explained her depression to herself on the grounds that she was worried about reclaiming the ring, which she valued so dearly.
As the days grew longer, they had their tea out in the little garden, which Nancy zealously tended. And these pleasant evenings made the whole day seem quite cheerful—if it had not been for the incessant worry about the future.
One afternoon in the middle of the month, they were sitting out in the little arbor, where the vines, covered with a veil of delicate, sticky little leaves, already offered a light shade from the beams of the western sun. As Nancy turned her head to say something joking to Alma, she noticed for the first time how very quiet her sister had been while they had been talking. Alma was lying full length on the little bench, with her arm across her eyes. Evidently feeling that her mother and sister were wondering what was the matter, she took away her arm, revealing a feverishly flushed face and heavy eyelids. "I just have a beastly old headache," she explained drowsily. "It isn't anything but spring fever."
"You poor little kid!" cried Nancy, going to her in concern and throwing her arm around her.
"It isn't anything," said Alma, feebly. "I had it yesterday, too, but it wasn't so bad."
"Well, I'm going to see if you have any fever, anyway," Nancy said quietly, not liking the look of Alma's hot cheeks and crimson lips.
They got Alma to bed, and in a few moments after her head had sunk into the cool pillow, she had dozed off into a heavy sleep. Nancy tried to conceal her uneasiness, but Alma had a fever of a hundred and one, which is not common to a simple headache.
But the visit from Dr. Bevan, cheerful as he was, did anything but set their fears at rest.