never
thought of withholding it from Melinda, who, knowing that she ought not
to have seen it, wisely resolved to keep to herself the knowledge of its
contents. So, when she was asked, as she was repeatedly, "Why Mrs.
Markham had gone away," she answered evasively, or not at all, and
finding that nothing could be obtained from her, the people at last left
her in quiet and turned to their own resources, which furnished various
reasons for the desertion. They knew it was a desertion now, and hearing
how sick and broken Richard was, popular opinion was in his favor
mostly, though many a kind and wistful thought went after the fair young
wife, who had been a belle in their midst, and a general favorite, too.
Where was she now, and what was she doing, these many days, while the
winter crept on into spring, and the March winds blew raw and chill
against the windows of the chamber where Richard battled with the
sickness which he finally overcame, so that by the third week of Ethie's
absence he was up again and able to go in quest of her, if so be she
might be found and won to the love she never returned.

CHAPTER XXV

IN CHICOPEE

They were having a late dinner at Aunt Barbara's, a four o'clock dinner
of roast fowls with onions and tomatoes, and the little round table was
nicely arranged with the silver and china and damask for two, while in
the grate the fire was blazing brightly and on the hearth, the tabby cat
was purring out her appreciation of the comfort and good cheer. But Aunt
Barbara's heart was far too sorry and sad to care for her surroundings,
or think how pleasant and cozy that little dining room looked to one who
did not know of the grim skeleton which had walked in there that very
day along with Mrs. Dr. Van Buren, of Boston. That lady had come up on
the morning train and in her rustling black silk with velvet trimmings,
and lace barb hanging from her head, she sat before the fire with a look
of deep dejection and thoughtfulness upon her face, as if she too recked
little of the creature comforts around her. Aunt Barbara knew nothing of
her coming, and was taken by surprise when the village hack stopped at
the door, and Sister Sophia's sable furs and beaver cloak alighted. That
something was the matter she suspected from her sister's face the moment
that lady removed her veil and gave the usual dignified kiss of
greeting. Things had gone wrong again with Frank and Nettie, most
likely, she thought, for she