"Desperation," she responded, with a guilty look about her.
"Possibly, some hope is in it, too. Perhaps, he thinks that any
charge of this nature must fall before Oliver's manly appearance.
Whatever he thinks, there is but one thing to do: find Oliver."
"Mrs. Scoville, the police have started upon that attempt. I got
the tip this morning."
"We must forestall them. To satisfy the judge, Oliver must come of
his own accord to face these charges."
"It's a brave stock. If Oliver gets his father's telegram he will
come."
"But how are we to reach him! We are absolutely in the dark."
"If I could go to Detroit, I might strike some clew; but I cannot
leave the judge. Mr. Black, he told me this morning when I carried
in his breakfast that he should see no one and go nowhere till I
brought him word that Oliver was in the house. The hermit life has
begun again. What shall we do? Advise me in this emergency, for I
feel as helpless as a child,--as a lost child."
They were standing far apart in the little front parlour, and he
gave no evidence of wishing to lessen the space between them, but
he gave her a look as she said this, which, as she thought it over
afterwards, held in its kindly flame something which had never
shone upon her before, whether as maid, wife or widow. But, while
she noticed it, she did not dwell upon it now, only upon the words
which followed it.
"You say you cannot go to Detroit. Shall I go?"
"Mr. Black!"
"Court is adjourned.
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