CHAPTER XXVIII

As the sixth of November approached, Donald Morley's friends for the

first time became seriously apprehensive over the result of his final

trial. The fact that he had engaged an unknown, inexperienced lawyer to

cope with the redoubtable Kinner, was looked upon as his crowning

folly. The case, which had always excited considerable local interest on

account of the prominence of the families involved, now became a matter

of much graver significance, concerning, as it did, the author of

“Khalil Samad,” the most talked-about book of the hour.

Miss Lady, alone at Thornwood now, except for Bertie and Myrtella,

fought through the days as best she could. Since Connie's confession she

had seen little of her, for after a round of visits in the Blue Grass

region, that restless young person had been with friends in town, and

was still there when the date set for the trial arrived.

Up to this time Miss Lady had conquered in the hourly struggle she was

making with her own heart. Again and again Donald had tried to see

her, but on one pretext or another she had evaded him. She was puzzled,

bewildered, and hopelessly wretched, and she asked herself repeatedly

why her happiness should be sacrificed for that of a shallow,

irresponsible butterfly. For Donald, she had no blame, he had drifted

into this affair with Connie when his need was greatest, and now that

his honor was involved as well as hers, there must be no turning back.

But when the second day of the trial dawned, and she came down after a

sleepless night to read discouraging news reports of the previous day's

proceedings, she found that something stronger than herself was taking

possession of her. In vain did she try to fulfil her accustomed tasks.

Every atom of her was there in the courthouse beside Donald Morley,

standing trial with him. Twice she flung on her coat and hat, only to

take them off again, and stand at the window impatiently watching the

storm.

For the long summer had finally come to an end. After days of radiant

October sunshine, when winter seemed, like the hereafter, vague and

far off, a wind came rushing out of the north, stripping the trees in a

single night, and leaving them surprised at their sudden nakedness. Then

the sleet came, and, not content with attacking trees and shrubs, must

storm the house itself, invading windows and doors, besieging every

nook and corner, only to waste away at last into icy streams that went

rattling noisily down the gutters.

As the morning wore on Miss Lady grew more and more restless. Suppose

the preposterous should happen, and for the second time twelve honest

men should pronounce an innocent man guilty? Could Connie face the

ignominy of the verdict? Would her fickle, inconstant heart steady to

such a test? Suppose that once again the person on whom Donald Morley

depended, should fail him in a supreme hour?

For the third time Miss Lady threw on her wraps. She could no longer

stand the suspense, she must go to him, in case he needed her.

“'Fore de Lawd!” exclaimed Uncle Jimpson when her intention was made

known to him. “I dunno what ole John'll think of us, takin' him to de

station a day lak dis! 'Sides de noon train's done went.”

“Then we'll have to drive to town. Hitch up as quickly as you can!”

“But, Miss Lady, Honey, you fergit de sleet! Ole John 'ud slide 'round

de road lak a fly on a bald spot.”

“No matter! I'm going. Hurry!”

Myrtella, who was fashioning a dough man, under the personal supervision

of Bert, looked up indignantly:

“You don't think you are going out in this storm without no lunch, do

you?”

“I can't eat anything, I'm not hungry.”

“That's what you said at breakfast. I ain't got a bit of patience with

people that get theirselves sick in bed and be a nuisance to everybody,

just for the pleasure of slopping around in the slush on a day like

this. I'm going to fix you some toast and a egg, while he's hitchin'

up.”

“Go on with the story, 'Telia,” demanded Bertie, carefully bestowing a

nose on the dough man.

“Well,” resumed Myrtella, from the stove, casting an anxious glance

at Miss Lady who stood at the window impatiently tapping the pane,

“everbody was a wonderin' what would be his very first words, an' Dr.

Wyeth he sez, 'Don't pester him to talk, jes' let it come natural.'

One day me an' the nurse, the stuck-up one I was tellin' you 'bout, was

fixin' to spray out his throat, an' he look so curious at all the little

rubber tubes, an' fixin's, that she sez, 'You'll know a lot when you

leave here, Chick.' And what do you think he up an' answered? Just as

smart an' plain as if he'd a been talkin' all his life?”

“What?” demanded Bertie as breathlessly as if he hadn't heard the story

a dozen times.

“'Shucks', sez Chick, 'I knowed a lot when I come!'” Myrtella's pride in

this first articulation of her offspring was so great that it rendered

her oblivious to the fact that the toast was scorching.

“When will you be able to bring Chick home?” asked Miss Lady, gulping

down the hot tea with a watchful eye on the stable door.

“Jes' as soon as the doctor quits foolin' with his throat every day.

He's been gittin' on fine ever' since I took him back to Phineas'.

Maria's gittin' right stuck on him, now she's got to give him up. Says

she always knowed he was smart, but she never dreamed of the things he

had bottled up in his head.”

“I haven't forgotten about your house,” said Miss Lady absently. “Dr.

Wyeth knows a nice place down on Chestnut Street, and says you can make

a good living letting the rooms to shop girls. It isn't right for me to

keep you out here any longer.”

“Well, I ain't goin' 'til spring.” Myrtella rattled the pans with

unnecessary vehemence. “Me an' Chick's goin' to stay right here 'til we

git you settled. Now that Mr. Gooch has got a spell of spendin', an' is

sendin' Miss Hattie to college, I guess she's settled fer a spell. Like

as not Miss Connie'll be marryin' some smart-alecky, good-fer-nothin'

fellow, then she'll be settled. But what's goin' to become of you and

Bertie?”

Miss Lady leaned impulsively over the child's back as he knelt in a

chair beside the table, and kissed the bit of neck that showed between

the collar and the curls: “Bert and I?” she repeated with a little catch

in her voice; “why, we'll have to take care of each other, won't we,

Bert?”