His name did not bring absolute
confidence to Waitstill's mind. He was gay and young and
thoughtless; how had he managed to do this wild thing?--and had
he done all decently and wisely, with consideration for the
girl's good name? The thought of all the risks lying in the train
of Patty's youth and inexperience brought a wail of anguish from
Waitstill's lips, and, dropping the beads and closing the drawer,
she stumbled blindly down the stairway to the kitchen, intent
upon one thought only--to find her sister, to look in her eyes,
feel the touch of her hand, and assure herself of her safety.
She gave a dazed look at the tall clock, and was beginning to put
on her cloak when the door opened and Patty entered the kitchen
by way of the shed; the usual Patty, rosy, buoyant, alert, with a
kind of childlike innocence that could hardly be associated with
the possession of wedding-rings.
"Are you going out, Waity? Wrap up well, for it's freezing cold.
Waity, Waity, dear! What's the matter?" she cried, coming closer
to her sister in alarm.
Waitstill's face had lost its clear color, and her eyes had the
look of some dumb animal that has been struck and wounded. She
sank into the flag-bottomed rocker by the window, and leaning
back her head, uttered no word, but closed her eyes and gave one
long, shivering sigh and a dry sob that seemed drawn from the
very bottom of her heart.
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