"If I
could do anything towards finding her"--
"I know where she is," said Isabel unhappily. "She's as well on't as
she can be, under the circumstances. There's on'y one thing you could
do. If you should be willin' to keep it dark t you've seen me, I should
be real beholden to ye. You know there ain't no time to call in the
neighborhood, an' such things make talk, an' all. An' if you don't
speak out to Isabel, so much the better. Poor creatur', she's got
enough to bear without that!" Her voice dropped meltingly in the
keenness of her sympathy for the unfortunate girl who, embarrassed
enough before, had deliberately set for herself another snare. "I feel
for Isabel," she continued, in the hope of impressing him with the
necessity for silence and inaction. "I do feel for her! Oh, gracious
me! What's that?"
A decided rap had sounded at the front door. The parson rose also,
amazed at her agitation.
"Somebody knocked," he said. "Shall I go to the door?"
"Oh, not yet, not yet!" cried Isabel, clasping her hands under her
cashmere shawl. "Oh, what shall I do?"
Her natural voice had asserted itself, but, strangely enough, the
parson did not comprehend. The entire scene was too bewildering. There
came a second knock.
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