"I have none," she said somewhat curtly. "Show me a piece of blue cloth, and I'll tear it to pieces. That is the only thought or idea I have."

"Well, that doesn't help us much," Meriwether Clopton remarked.

At that moment, Mr. Sanders was announced, and word was sent to him to come right in. "Howdy, everybody," he said in his informal way, as he entered the room. He was warm, and instead of leaving his hat on the hall-rack, he had kept it in his hand, and was using it as a fan. "Miss Lucy," he said, "I won't take up two minutes of your time----"

"Mr. Sanders, you may take up two hours of my time. Time!" Mrs. Lumsden exclaimed bitterly--"why, time is about all I have left."

"Oh, it ain't nigh as bad as you think," remarked Mr. Sanders, as cheerfully as he could. "But I want to settle a p'int or two. Do you remember what time it was when Gabriel come home the night Hotchkiss was killed?"

Mrs. Lumsden reflected a moment. "Why, he went out directly after supper, and came in--well, I don't remember when he came in. I must have been asleep."

"Um-m," grunted Mr. Sanders.

"Is it important?" Mrs. Lumsden asked.

"It may turn out to be right down important," replied Mr. Sanders, and then he said no more, but sat looking at the floor, and wondering how Gabriel could be released from the tangled web that the spider, Circ.u.mstance, had woven about him.

As Mr. Sanders went out, he met Nan at the door, and he was amazed at the change that had come over her. Perplexity and trouble looked forth from her eyes, and there was that in her face that Mr. Sanders had never seen there before. "Why, honey!" he exclaimed, "you look like you've lost your best friend."

"Well, perhaps I have. Who is in there?" And when Mr. Sanders told her, she cried out, "Oh, why don't they leave her alone?"

"Well, they ain't pesterin' her much, honey. Go right in. Lucy Lumsden has got as much grit as a major gener'l, an' she'll be glad to see you."

But Nan stood staring at Mr. Sanders, as if she wanted to ask him a question, and couldn't find words for it. Her face was pale, and she had the appearance of one who is utterly forspent.

"Why, honey, what ails you? I never seed you lookin' like this before."

"You've never seen me ill before," answered Nan. "I thought the walk would do me good, but the sun--oh, Mr. Sanders! please don't ask me anything else."

With that, she ran up the steps very rapidly for an ill person, and stood a moment in the hallway.

"Be jigged ef she ain't wuss. .h.i.t than any on us!" declared Mr. Sanders, to himself, as he turned away. "What a pity that she had to go an' git grown!"

Following the sound of voices, Nan went into the library. Mrs. Lumsden, who was still walking about restlessly, paused and tried to smile when she saw Nan; but it was only a make-believe smile. Nan went directly to her, and stood looking in the old gentlewoman's eyes. Then she kissed her quite suddenly and impulsively.

"Nan, you must be ill," Miss f.a.n.n.y Tomlin declared.

"I am, Aunt f.a.n.n.y; I am not feeling well at all."

"Lie there on the sofa, child," Mrs. Lumsden insisted. Taking Nan by the arm, she almost forced her to lie down.

"If you-all are talking secrets, I'll go away," said Nan.

"No, child," remarked Mrs. Lumsden; "we are talking about trouble, and trouble is too common to be much of a secret in this world." She seated herself on the edge of the sofa, and held Nan's hand, caressing it softly.

"This is the way I used to cure Gabriel, when he was ill or weary," she said in a tone too low for the others to hear.

"Did you?" whispered Nan, closing her eyes with a sigh of satisfaction.

"This is the second time I have been able to sit down since breakfast,"

remarked Mrs. Lumsden.

"I have walked miles and miles," replied Nan, wearily.

There was a noise in the hall, and presently Tasma Tid peeped cautiously into the room. "Wey you done wit Honey Nan?" she asked. "She in dis house; you ain' kin fool we."

"Come in, and behave yourself if you know how," said Mrs. Lumsden. "Come in, Tid."

"How come we name Tid? How come we ain't name Tasma Tid?"

No one thought it worth while to make any reply to this, and the African came into the room, acting as if she were afraid some one would jump at her. "Sit in the corner there at the foot of the sofa," said Mrs.

Lumsden. Tasma Tid complied very readily with this command, since it enabled her to be near Nan. The African squatted on the floor, and sat there motionless.

Meriwether Clopton and Miss f.a.n.n.y went away after awhile, but Mrs.

Lumsden continued to sit by Nan, caressing her hand. Not a word was said for a long time, but the silence was finally broken by Nan, who spoke to the African.

"Tasma Tid, I want you to go home and tell Miss Johnny that I will spend the rest of the day and the night with Grandmother Lumsden."

"Don't keer; we comin' back," said Tasma Tid.

"Yes, come back," said Mrs. Lumsden; whereupon, the African whisked out of the room as quick as a flash.

After Tasma Tid had gone, a silence fell on the house--a silence so profound that Nan could hear the great clock ticking in the front hall, and the bookshelves cracked just as they do in the middle of the night.

"If I had known what was going to happen when Gabriel came and kissed me good-bye," said Mrs. Lumsden, after awhile, "I would have gone out there where those men were, and--well, I don't know what I wouldn't have done!"

"Didn't Gabriel tell you? Why----" Nan paused.

"Not he! Not Gabriel!" cried Mrs. Lumsden in a voice full of pride. "He wanted to spare his grandmother one night's worry, and he did."

"Didn't you know when he kissed you good-night that something was wrong?" Nan inquired.

"How should I? Why, he sometimes comes and kisses me in the middle of the night, even after he has gone to bed. He says he sleeps better afterwards."

What was there in this simple statement to cause Nan to catch her breath, and seize the hand that was caressing her. For one thing, it presented the tender side of Gabriel's nature in a new light; and for the rest--well, who shall pretend to fathom a young woman's heart?

"Yes, he was always doing something of that kind," remarked the grandmother proudly; "and I have often thought that he should have been a girl."

"A girl!" cried Nan.

"Yes; he will marry some woman who doesn't appreciate his finer qualities--the tenderness and affection that he tries to hide from everybody but his grandmother; and he will go about with a hungry heart, and his wife will never suspect it. I am afraid I dislike her already."

"Oh, don't say that!" Nan implored.

"But if he was a girl," the grandmother went on, "he would be better prepared to endure coldness and neglect. This is partly what we were born for, my dear, as you will find out one day for yourself."