.Hecannotspeak.Hetakesmessagesforusall.”
Philipthensawthatthemessengerwasaghastlycreature,quitebald,withtricklingeyesandgreytwitchingnose.Inanothercountryhewouldhavebeenshutupherehewasacceptedasapublicinstitution,andpartofNature’sscheme.
“Ugh!”shudderedtheEnglishman.“Signorapadrona,findoutfromhimthisnoteisfrommysister.Whatdoesitmean?Wheredidheseeher?”
“Itisnogood,”saidthelandlady.“Heunderstandseverythingbuthecanexplainnothing.”
“Hehasvisionsofthesaints,”saidthemanwhodrovethecab.
“Butmysister—wherehasshegone?Howhasshemethim?”
“Shehasgoneforawalk,”assertedthelandlady.Itwasanastyevening,butshewasbeginningtounderstandtheEnglish.“Shehasgoneforawalk—perhapstowishgood-byetoherlittlenephew.Preferringtocomebackanotherway,shehassentyouthisnotebythepooridiotandiswaitingforyououtsidetheSienagate.Manyofmyguestsdothis.”
Therewasnothingtodobuttoobeythemessage.Heshookhandswiththelandlady,gavethemessengeranickelpiece,anddroveaway.Afteradozenyardsthecarriagestopped.Thepooridiotwasrunningandwhimperingbehind.
“Goon,”criedPhilip.“Ihavepaidhimplenty.”
Ahorriblehandpushedthreesoldiintohislap.Itwaspartoftheidiot’smaladyonlytoreceivewhatwasjustforhisservices.Thiswasthechangeoutofthenickelpiece.
“Goon!”shoutedPhilip,andflungthemoneyintotheroad.Hewasfrightenedattheepisodethewholeoflifehadbecomeunreal.ItwasarelieftobeoutoftheSienagate.Theydrewupforamomentontheterrace.ButtherewasnosignofHarriet.ThedrivercalledtotheDoganamen.ButtheyhadseennoEnglishladypass.
“WhatamItodo?”hecried“itisnotliketheladytobelate.Weshallmissthetrain.”
“Letusdriveslowly,”saidthedriver,“andyoushallcallherbynameaswego.”
Sotheystarteddownintothenight,Philipcalling“Harriet!Harriet!Harriet!”Andthereshewas,waitingfortheminthewet,atthefirstturnofthezigzag.
“Harriet,whydon’tyouanswer?”
“Iheardyoucoming,”saidshe,andgotquicklyin.Nottillthendidheseethatshecarriedabundle.
“What’sthat?”
“Hush—”
“Whateveristhat?”
“Hush—sleeping.”
HarriethadsucceededwhereMissAbbottandPhiliphadfailed.Itwasthebaby.
Shewouldnotlethimtalk.Thebaby,sherepeated,wasasleep,andsheputupanumbrellatoshielditandherfromtherain.Heshouldhearalllater,sohehadtoconjecturethecourseofthewonderfulinterview—aninterviewbetweentheSouthpoleandtheNorth.Itwasquiteeasytoconjecture:GinocrumplingupsuddenlybeforetheintenseconvictionofHarrietbeingtold,perhaps,tohisfacethathewasavillainyieldinghisonlysonperhapsformoney,perhapsfornothing.“PoorGino,”hethought.“He’snogreaterthanIam,afterall.”
ThenhethoughtofMissAbbott,whosecarriagemustbedescendingthedarknesssomemileortwobelowthem,andhiseasyself-accusationfailed.She,too,hadconvictionhehadfeltitsforcehewouldfeelitagainwhensheknewthisday’ssombreandunexpectedclose.
“Youhavebeenprettysecret,”hesaid“youmighttellmealittlenow.Whatdowepayforhim?Allwe’vegot?”
“Hush!”answeredHarriet,anddandledthebundlelaboriously,likesomebonyprophetess