ere like a flock of birds beating their wings against her ears. The
imaginings were not those of absolute dread or terror, for she knew her
Patty. If she had seen the necklace alone she would have been anxious,
indeed, for it would have meant that the girl, urged on by ungoverned
desire for the ornament, had accepted present from one who should not
have given it to her secretly; but the wedding-ring meant some-thing
different for Patty,--something more, something certain, something
unescapable, for good or ill. A wedding-ring could stand for nothing but
marriage. Could Patty be married? How, when, and where could so great a
thing happen without her knowledge? It seemed impossible. How had such a
child surmounted the difficulties in the path? Had she been led away
by the attractions of some stranger? No, there had been none in the
village. There was only one man who had the worldly wisdom or the means
to carry Patty off under the very eye of her watchful sister; only one
with the reckless courage to defy her father; and that was Mark Wilson.
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.

XXVI