Going to the table she opened her portfolio, the gift of Guy, and with
her gold pen, also his gift, wrote to him what the neighbors were
saying, and that he must come there no more; at least, only once in a
great while, because if he did, she could not see him. Then, when this
was written, she went down to Uncle Joseph, beginning to call for her,
and sat by him as usual, singing to him the songs he loved so well,
and which this night pleased him especially, because the voice which
sang them was so plaintive, so full of woe. Would he never go to
sleep, or the hand which held hers so firmly relax its hold? Never, it
seemed to Maddy, who sat and sang, while the night-bird on a distant
tree, awakened by the low song, uttered a responsive note, and the
hours crept on to midnight. Human nature could endure no more, and
when the crazy man said to her, "Now sing of Him who died on Calvary,"
Maddy's answer was a gaping cry as she fell fainting on the pillow.
"It was only a nervous headache," she said to the frightened Flora,
who came at Uncle Joseph's call, and helped her young mistress up to
bed. "She should be better in the morning, and she would rather be
alone."
So Flora left her there, but went often to her door, until assured by
the low breathing sound that Maddy was sleeping at last. It was a
heavy sleep, and when Maddy awakened from it the pain in her temples
was there still; she could not rise, and half glad that she could not,
inasmuch as her illness would be a reason why she could not see Guy if
he came. She did not know he was here already, until she heard his
voice speaking to her grandfather. It was later than she imagined, and
he had ridden down early because he could not stay away.
"I can't see him, Flora," Maddy said, when the latter came up with the
message that Mr. Remington was there with his buggy, and asked if a
little ride would not do her good. "I can't see him, but give him
this," and she placed in Flora's hand the note, baptized with so many
tears and prayers, and the contents of which made Guy furious; not at
her, but at the neighbors, the inquisitive, envious, ignorant,
meddlesome neighbors, who had dared to talk of him, or to breathe a
suspicious word against Maddy Clyde. He would see; he would make them
sorry for it; they should take back every word; and they should beg
Maddy's forgiveness for the pain they had caused her.