As the fever increased, and Uncle Joseph grew more and more delirious
his cries for Sarah were heartrending, making Jessie weep bitterly as
she said to Maddy: "If I knew where this Sarah was I'd go miles on foot to find her and
bring her to him."
Something like this Jessie said to her mother when she went for a day
to Aikenside, asking her in conclusion if she thought Sarah would go.
"Perhaps," and Agnes brushed abstractedly her long, flowing hair,
winding it around her jeweled fingers, and then letting the soft curls
fall across her snowy arms.
"Where do you suppose she is?" was Jessie's next question, but if
Agnes knew, she did not answer, except by reminding her little
daughter that it was past her bedtime.
The next morning Agnes' eyes were very red, as if she had been wakeful
the entire night, while her white face fully warranted the headache
she professed to have.
"Jessie," she said, as they sat together at their breakfast, "I am
going to Honedale to-day, going to see Maddy, and shall leave you
here, as I do not care to have us both absent."
Jessie demurred a little at first, but finally yielded, wondering what
had prompted this visit to the cottage. Maddy wondered so, too, as
from the window she saw Agnes instead of Jessie alighting from the
carriage, and was conscious of a thrill of gratification that Agnes
would have come to see her. But Agnes' business concerned the sick
man, poor Uncle Joseph, who was sleeping when she came, and so did not
hear her voice as in the tidy kitchen she talked to Maddy, appearing
extremely agitated, and flashing her eyes rapidly from one part of the
room to another, resting now upon the tinware hung upon the wall and
now upon the gourd swimming in the water pail standing in the old-
fashioned sink, with the wooden spout, directly over the pile of
stones covering the drain. These things were familiar to the proud
woman; she had seen them before, and the sight of them now brought to
her a most remorseful regret for the past, while her heart ached
cruelly as she wished she had never crossed that threshold, or
crossing it had never brought ruin to one of its inmates. Agnes was
not the same woman whom we first knew. All hope of the doctor had long
since been given up, and as Jessie grew older the mother nature was
stronger within her, subduing her selfishness, and making her far more
gentle and considerate for others than she had been before. To Maddy
she was exceedingly kind, and never more so in manner than now, when
they sat talking together in the humble kitchen at the cottage.