That was all she said--all that Maddy ever knew of her history, as it
was never referred to again, except that evening, when Agnes said to
her, pleadingly: "Neither Guy nor Jessie, nor any one, need know what
I have told you."
"They shall not," was Maddy's reply; and from that moment the past, so
far as Agnes was concerned, was a sealed page to both. With this bond
of confidence between them, Agnes felt herself strangely drawn toward
Maddy, while, if it were possible, something of her olden love was
renewed for the helpless man who clung to her now instead of Maddy,
refusing to let her go; neither had Agnes any disposition to leave
him. She should stay to the last, so she said; and she did, taking
Maddy's place, and by her faithfulness and care winning golden laurels
in the opinion of the neighbors, who marveled at first to see so gay a
lady at Uncle Joseph's bedside, attributing it all to her friendship
for Maddy, just as they attributed his calling her Sarah to a crazy
freak. She did resemble Sarah Morris a very little, they said; and in
Maddy's presence they sometimes wondered where Sarah was, repeating
strange things which they had heard of her; but Maddy kept the secret
from every one, so that even Jessie never suspected why her mother
stayed day after day at the cottage; watching and waiting until the
last day of Joseph's life.
She was alone with him then, so that Maddy never knew what passed
between them. She had left them together for an hour, while she did
some errands; and when she returned, Agnes met her at the door, and
with a blanched cheek whispered: "He is dead; he died in my arms,
blessing you and me; do you hear, blessing me! Surely; my sin is now
forgiven?"