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Page 13
"I don't know anything about a house being haunted. I don't
believe in such things. Be you crazy?" Mrs. Dent spoke with
gathering force. The colour flashed back to her cheeks.
"No," said Rebecca shortly. "I ain't crazy yet, but I shall be if
this keeps on much longer. I'm going to find out where that girl
is before night."
Mrs. Dent eyed her.
"What be you going to do?"
"I'm going to Lincoln."
A faint triumphant smile overspread Mrs. Dent's large face.
"You can't," said she; "there ain't any train."
"No train?"
"No; there ain't any afternoon train from the Falls to Lincoln."
"Then I'm going over to the Slocums' again to-night."
However, Rebecca did not go; such a rain came up as deterred even
her resolution, and she had only her best dresses with her. Then
in the evening came the letter from the Michigan village which she
had left nearly a week ago. It was from her cousin, a single
woman, who had come to keep her house while she was away. It was a
pleasant unexciting letter enough, all the first of it, and related
mostly how she missed Rebecca; how she hoped she was having
pleasant weather and kept her health; and how her friend, Mrs.
Greenaway, had come to stay with her since she had felt lonesome
the first night in the house; how she hoped Rebecca would have no
objections to this, although nothing had been said about it, since
she had not realized that she might be nervous alone. The cousin
was painfully conscientious, hence the letter. Rebecca smiled in
spite of her disturbed mind as she read it, then her eye caught the
postscript. That was in a different hand, purporting to be written
by the friend, Mrs. Hannah Greenaway, informing her that the cousin
had fallen down the cellar stairs and broken her hip, and was in a
dangerous condition, and begging Rebecca to return at once, as she
herself was rheumatic and unable to nurse her properly, and no one
else could be obtained.
Rebecca looked at Mrs. Dent, who had come to her room with the
letter quite late; it was half-past nine, and she had gone upstairs
for the night.
"Where did this come from?" she asked.
"Mr. Amblecrom brought it," she replied.
"Who's he?"
"The postmaster. He often brings the letters that come on the late
mail. He knows I ain't anybody to send. He brought yours about
your coming. He said he and his wife came over on the ferry-boat
with you."
"I remember him," Rebecca replied shortly. "There's bad news in
this letter."
Mrs. Dent's face took on an expression of serious inquiry.
"Yes, my Cousin Harriet has fallen down the cellar stairs--they
were always dangerous--and she's broken her hip, and I've got to
take the first train home to-morrow."
"You don't say so. I'm dreadfully sorry."
"No, you ain't sorry!" said Rebecca, with a look as if she leaped.
"You're glad. I don't know why, but you're glad. You've wanted to
get rid of me for some reason ever since I came. I don't know why.
You're a strange woman. Now you've got your way, and I hope you're
satisfied."
"How you talk."
Mrs. Dent spoke in a faintly injured voice, but there was a light
in her eyes.
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