It was nearly five o'clock,gray dawn of what was to be a clear,beautiful summer morning,when Keziah softly lifted the latch and entered the parsonage.All night she had been busy at the Hammond tavern.Busy with the doctor and the undertaker,who had been called from his bed by young Higgins;busy with Grace,soothing her,comforting her as best she could,and petting her as a mother might pet a stricken child.The poor girl was on the verge of prostration,and from hysterical spasms of sobs and weeping passed to stretches of silent,dry-eyed agony which were harder to witness and much more to be feared.
It is all my fault,she repeated over and over again.All my fault!I killed him!I killed him,Aunt Keziah!What shall I do?
Oh,why couldn't I have died instead?It would have been so much better,better for everybody.Ss-sh!ss-sh!deary,murmured the older woman.Don't talk so;you mustn't talk so.Your uncle was ready to go.He's been ready for ever so long,and those of us who knew how feeble he was expected it any time.'Twa'n't your fault at all and he'd say so if he was here now.No,he wouldn't.He'd say just as I do,that I was to blame.You don't know,Aunt Keziah.Nobody knows but me.Maybe I do,Gracie,dear;maybe I do.Maybe I understand better'n you think I do.And it's all been for the best.You'll think so,too,one of these days.It seems hard now;it is awful hard,you poor thing,but it's all for the best,I'm sure.Best for everyone.It's a mercy he went sudden and rational,same as he did.The doctor says that,if he hadn't,he'd have been helpless and bedridden and,maybe,out of his head for another year.He couldn't have lived longer'n that,at the most.But you DON'T know,Aunt Keziah!You don't know what I--I AM to blame.I'll never forgive myself.And I'll never be happy again.Yes,you will.You'll come,some day,to think it was best and right,for you and--and for others.I know you think you'll never get over it,but you will.Somehow or other you will,same as the rest of us have had to do.The Lord tries us mighty hard sometimes,but He gives us the strength to bear it.There!there!
don't,deary,don't.
Dr.Parker was very anxious.
She must rest,he told Mrs.Coffin.She must,or her brain will give way.I'm going to give her something to make her sleep and you must get her to take it.So Keziah tried and,at last,Grace did take the drug.In a little while she was sleeping,uneasily and with moans and sobbings,but sleeping,nevertheless.
Now it's your turn,Keziah,said the doctor.You go home now and rest,yourself.We don't need you any more just now.Where's--where's Cap'n Nat?asked Keziah.
He's in there with his father.He bears it well,although he is mighty cut up.Poor chap,he seems to feel that he is to blame,somehow.Says Cap'n Eben and he had disagreed about something or other and he fears that hastened the old man's death.Nonsense,of course.It was bound to come and I told him so.'Twas those blasted Come-Outers who really did it,although I shan't say so to anyone but you.I'm glad Nat and the girl have agreed to cruise together.It's a mighty good arrangement.She couldn't have a better man to look out for her and he couldn't have a better wife.
I suppose I'm at liberty to tell people of the engagement,hey?Yes.Yes,I don't see any reason why not.Yes--I guess likely you'd better tell 'em.All right.Now you go home.You've had a hard night,like the rest of us.How hard he had no idea.And Keziah,as she wearily entered the parsonage,realized that the morning would be perhaps the hardest of all.For upon her rested the responsibility of seeing that the minister's secret was kept.And she,and no other,must break the news to him.
The dining room was dark and gloomy.She lighted the lamp.Then she heard a door open and Ellery's voice,as he called down the stairs.
Who is it?he demanded.Mrs.Coffin?
She was startled.Yes,she said softly,after a moment.Yes,Mr.Ellery,it's me.What are you doin'awake at such an hour's this?Yes,I'm awake.I couldn't sleep well to-night,somehow.Too much to think of,I imagine.But where have you been?Why weren't you at meeting?And where--Why,it's almost morning!She did not answer at once.The temptation was to say nothing now,to put off the trying scene as long as possible.
It's morning,repeated the minister.Are you sick?Has anything happened?Yes,she answered slowly,somethin'has happened.Are you dressed?Could you come down?He replied that he would be down in a moment.When he came he found her standing by the table waiting for him.The look of her face in the lamplight shocked him.
Why,Mrs.Coffin!he exclaimed.What IS it?You look as if you had been through some dreadful experience.Maybe I have,she replied.Maybe I have.Experiences like that come to us all in this life,to old folks and young,and we have to bear 'em like men and women.That's the test we're put to,Mr.
Ellery,and the way we come through the fire proves the stuff we're made of.Sorrows and disappointments and heartbreaks and sicknesses and death--She paused on the word.He interrupted her.
Death?he repeated.Death?Is some one dead,some one I know?
Mrs.Coffin,what is it you are trying to tell me?Her heart went out to him.She held out both her hands.
You poor boy,she cried,I'm trying to tell you one of the hardest things a body can tell.Yes,some one is dead,but that ain't all.Eben Hammond,poor soul,is out of his troubles and gone.Eben Hammond!Captain Eben?Dead!Why,why--Yes,Eben's gone.He was took down sudden and died about ten o'clock last night.I was there and--Captain Eben dead!Why,he was as well as--as--She said--Oh,I must go!I must go at once!He was on his way to the door,but she held it shut.
No,she said gravely,you mustn't go.You mustn't go,Mr.
Ellery.That's the one thing you mustn't do.You don't understand.By and by I can tell you why I must be there,but now--I do understand.I understand it all.Lord help us!if I'd only understood sooner,how much of this might have been spared.Why DIDN'T you tell me?Mrs.Coffin--
John--you won't mind my callin'you John.I'm old enough,pretty nigh,to be your mother,and I've come to feel almost as if I was.
