Richard knew she was not there--at least all the probabilities were
against it; and still he clung to the vague hope that Andy would bring
him some good news, and his thoughts went after the brother whose every
breath was a prayer, as he galloped over the snowy ground toward Mrs.
Amsden's. They were early risers there, and notwithstanding the sun was
just coming up the eastern sky, the family were at breakfast when Andy's
horse stopped before their gate, and Andy himself knocked at their door
for admission. Andy's faith was great--so great that, in answer to his
petitions, he fully expected to see Ethie herself at the table, when the
door was opened, and he caught a view of the occupants of the dining
room; but no Ethie was there, nor had been, as they said, in answer to
his eager questionings.
"What made you think she was here? When did she go away? Was she
intending to visit me?" Mrs. Amsden asked.
But Andy, while praying that Ethie might be there, had also asked that
if she were not, "he needn't make a fool of himself, nor let the cat out
of the bag," and he didn't; he merely replied: "She left home a few days ago. Dick was in St. Louis, and it was
lonesome stayin' alone. I'll find her, most likely, as she is
somewhere else."
Andy was in his saddle now, and his fleet steed fled swiftly along
toward home, where they waited so anxiously for him, Richard tottering
to the window so as to read his fate in Andy's tell-tale face.
"She is not there. I knew she was not. She has gone with that villain."
Richard did not mean to say that last. It dropped from him mechanically,
and in an instant his mother seized upon it, demanding what he meant,
and who was the villain referred to. Richard tried to put her off, but
she would know what he meant, and so to her and his three brothers he
told as little as he could and make any kind of a story, and as he
talked his heart hardened toward Ethie, who had done him this wrong. It
seemed a great deal worse when put into words, and the whole expression
of Richard's face was changed when he had finished speaking, while he
was conscious of feeling much as he did that night when he denounced
Ethie so terribly to her face. "Had it been a man, or half a man, or
anybody besides that contemptible puppy, it would not seem so bad; but
to forsake me for him!" Richard said, while the great ridges deepened in
his forehead, and a hard, black look crept into his eyes, and about the
corners of his mouth. He was terrible in his anger, which grew upon him
until even his mother stood appalled at the fearful expression of
his face.