She moved slowly, and he felt the
influence of her discouragement. But once in the lighted parlour,
she turned upon him the face he knew best--the mother face.
"Did Reuther see him?" she asked.
Then he told her the whole story.
When she had heard him through, she looked about the room they
were in, with a lingering, abstracted gaze he hardly understood
till he saw it fall with an indescribable aspect of sorrow upon a
picture which had lately been found and rehung upon the wall. It
was a portrait of Oliver's mother.
"I am disappointed," she murmured in bitter reflection to herself.
"I did not expect Oliver to clear himself, but I did expect him to
face his accusers if only for his father's sake. What am I to say
now to the judge?"
"Nothing to-night. In the morning we will talk the whole subject
over. I must first explain myself to Andrews, and, if possible,
learn his intentions; then I shall know better what to advise."
"Did the officer you met on your return from Tempest Lodge follow
you to Shelby?"
"I have not seen him."
"That is bad. He followed Oliver."
"It was to be expected."
"Oliver is in Canada?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Which means--"
"Delay, then extradition. It's that fellow Flannagan who has
brought this upon us. The wretch knows something which forbids us
to hope."
"Alas, yes." And a silence followed, during which such entire
stillness rested upon the house that a similar thought rose in
both minds.
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