“I see her coming over the fields,” she said in a high, clear voice. “She is coming so gladly—she is singing—she is thinking of her baby—oh, keep her back—keep her back—she doesn’t see the well—it’s so dark she doesn’t see it—oh, she’s gone into it—she’s gone into it!”
Emily’s voice rose in a piercing shriek which penetrated to Aunt Elizabeth’s room and brought her flying across the hall in her flannel nightgown.
“What is wrong, Laura?” she gasped.
Laura was trying to soothe Emily, who was struggling to sit up in bed. Her cheeks were crimson and her eyes had still the same far, wild look.
“Emily—Emily, darling, you’ve just had a bad dream. The old Lee well isn’t open—nobody has fallen into it.”
“Yes, somebody has,” said Emily shrilly. “She has—I saw her—I saw her—with the ace of hearts on her forehead. Do you think I don’t know her?”
She fell back on her pillow, moaned, and tossed the hands which Laura Murray had loosened in her surprise.
The two ladies of New Moon looked at each other across her bed in dismay—and something like terror.
“Who did you see, Emily?” asked Aunt Elizabeth.
“Ilse’s mother—of course. I always knew she didn’t do that dreadful thing. She fell into the old well—she’s there now—go—go and get her out, Aunt Laura. Please.”
“Yes—yes, of course we’ll get her out, darling,” said Aunt Laura, soothingly.
Emily sat up in bed and looked at Aunt Laura again. This time she did not look through her—she looked into her. Laura Murray felt that those burning eyes read her soul.
“You are lying to me,” cried Emily. “You don’t mean to try to get her out. You are only saying it to put me off. Aunt Elizabeth,” she suddenly turned and caught Aunt Elizabeth’s hand, “you’ll do it for me, won’t you? You’ll go and get her out of the old well, won’t you?”
Elizabeth remembered that Dr. Burnley had said that Emily’s whims must be humoured. She was terrified by the child’s condition.
“Yes, I’ll get her out if she is in there,” she said. Emily released her hand and sank down. The wild glare left her eyes. A great sudden calm fell over her anguished little face.
“I know you’ll keep your word,” she said. “You are very hard—but you never lie, Aunt Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth Murray went back to her own room and dressed herself with her shaking fingers. A little later, when Emily had fallen into a quiet sleep, Laura went downstairs and heard Elizabeth giving Cousin Jimmy some orders in the kitchen.
“Elizabeth, you don’t really mean to have that old well searched?”
“I do,” said Elizabeth resolutely. “I know it’s nonsense as well as you do. But I had to promise it to quiet her down—and I’ll keep my promise. You heard what she said—she believed I wouldn’t lie to her. Nor will I. Jimmy, you will go over to James Lee’s after breakfast and ask him to come here.”
“How has she heard the story?” said Laura.
“I don’t know—oh, someone has told her, of course—perhaps that old demon of a Nancy Priest. It doesn’t matter who. She has heard it and the thing is to keep her quiet. It isn’t so much of a job to put ladders in the well and get someone to go down it. The thing that matters is the absurdity of it.”
“We’ll be laughed at for a pair of fools,” protested Laura, whose share of Murray pride was in hot revolt. “And besides, it will open up all the old scandal again.”
“No matter. I’ll keep my word to the child,” said Elizabeth stubbornly.
Allan Burnley came to New Moon at sunset, on his way home from town. He was tired, for he had been going night and day for over a week; he was more worried than he had admitted over Emily; he looked old and rather desolate as he stepped into the New Moon kitchen.
Only Cousin Jimmy was there. Cousin Jimmy did not seem to have much to do, although it was a good hay-day and Jimmy Joe Belle and Perry were hauling in the great fragrant, sun-dried loads. He sat by the western window with a strange expression on his face.
“Hello, Jimmy, where are the girls? And how is Emily?”
“Emily is better,” said Cousin Jimmy. “The rash is out and her fever has gone down. I think she’s asleep.”
“Good. We couldn’t afford to lose that little girl, could we, Jimmy?”
“No,” said Jimmy. But he did not seem to want to talk about it. “Laura and Elizabeth are in the sitting-room. They want to see you.” He paused a minute and then added in an eerie way, “There is nothing hidden that shall not be revealed.”
It occurred to Allan Burnley that Jimmy was acting mysteriously. And if Laura and Elizabeth wanted to see him why didn’t they come out? It wasn’t like them to stand on ceremony in this fashion. He pushed open the sitting-room door impatiently.
Laura Murray was sitting on the sofa, leaning her head on its arm. He could not see her face but he felt that she was crying. Elizabeth was sitting bolt upright on a chair. She wore her second-best black silk and her second-best lace cap. And she, too, had been crying. Dr. Burnley never attached much importance to Laura’s tears, easy as those of most women, but that Elizabeth Murray should cry—had he ever seen her cry before?
The thought of Ilse flashed into his mind—his little neglected daughter. Had anything happened to Ilse?
In one dreadful moment Allan Burnley paid the price of his treatment of his child.
“What is wrong?” he exclaimed in his gruffest manner.
“Oh, Allan,” said Elizabeth Murray. “God forgive us—God forgive us all!”
“It—is—Ilse,” said Dr. Burnley, dully.
“No—no—not Ilse.”
Then she
