"He don't know much more than I do," was Andy's mental comment, when to
his question, "What shall we do next?" Richard replied, in a maudlin
kind of way, "Yes, that is a very proper course. I leave it entirely
to you."
Andy felt that a great deal was depending upon himself, and he tried to
meet the emergency. Seeing how Richard continued to shiver, and how cold
he was, he persuaded him to lie down upon the bed, and piling the
blankets upon him, made such a fire as he said to himself, "would roast
a common ox"; then, when Hal Clifford came to the door and knocked, he
kept him out, with that "Dick had been broke of his rest, and was tryin'
to make it up."
But this state of things could not last long. Richard was growing ill,
and talking so strangely withal, that Andy began to feel the necessity
of having somebody there beside himself; "some of the wimmen folks, who
knew what to do, for I'm no better than a settin' hen," he said.
Very naturally his thoughts turned to his mother as the proper person to
come, "though Melinda Jones was the properest of the two. There was snap
to her, and she would not go to pitchin' in to Ethie."
Accordingly, the next mail carried to Melinda Jones a note from Andy,
which was as follows: "MISS MELINDA JONES: Dear Madam--We found the letters Ethie writ, one to
me, and one to Dick, and Dick's was too much for him. He lies like a
punk of wood, makin' a moanin' noise, and talkin' such queer things,
that I guess you or somebody or'to come and see to him a little. I send
to you because there's no nonsense about you, and you are made of the
right kind of stuff.
"Yours to command, "ANDERSON MARKHAM, ESQ."
This note Melinda carried straight to Mrs. Markham, and as the result,
four hours later both the mother and Melinda were on the road to Camden,
where Melinda's services were needed to stem the tide of wonder and
gossip, which had set in when it began to be known that Ethelyn was
gone, and Richard was lying sick in his room, tended only by Andy, who
would admit no one, not even the doctor, who, when urged by Harry
Clifford, came to offer his services.
"He wasn't goin' to let in a lot of curious critters to hear what Dick
was talkin'," he said to his mother and Melinda, his haggard face
showing how much he had endured in keeping them at bay, and answering
through the key-hole their numerous inquiries.
Richard did not have a fever, as was feared at first; but for several
days he kept his bed, and during that time his mother and Melinda stayed
by him, nursing him most assiduously, but never once speaking to each
other of Ethelyn. Both had read her letter, for Mrs. Markham never
thought of withholding it from Melinda, who, knowing that she ought not
to have seen it, wisely resolved to keep to herself the knowledge of its
contents. So, when she was asked, as she was repeatedly, "Why Mrs.
Markham had gone away," she answered evasively, or not at all, and
finding that nothing could be obtained from her, the people at last left
her in quiet and turned to their own resources, which furnished various
reasons for the desertion. They knew it was a desertion now, and hearing
how sick and broken Richard was, popular opinion was in his favor
mostly, though many a kind and wistful thought went after the fair young
wife, who had been a belle in their midst, and a general favorite, too.
Where was she now, and what was she doing, these many days, while the
winter crept on into spring, and the March winds blew raw and chill
against the windows of the chamber where Richard battled with the
sickness which he finally overcame, so that by the third week of Ethie's
absence he was up again and able to go in quest of her, if so be she
might be found and won to the love she never returned.