He was shame-faced when he struck out into the main road, but he did not dream of taking off the shawl.  A very passion of obedience and loyalty to Sylvia had taken possession of him.  With every submission after long persistency, there is a strong reverse action, as from the sudden cessation of any motion.  Richard now yielded in more marked measure than he had opposed.  He had borne with his whimsical will against all his sweetheart’s dearest wishes during the better part of her life; now he would wear any insignia of bondage if she bade him.

He had gone a short distance on the main road when he met Hannah Berry.  She was hurrying along, her face was quite red, and he could hear her pant as she drew near.  She looked at him sharply, she fairly narrowed her eyes over the shawl.  “Good-mornin’,” said she.

Richard said “Good-morning,” gruffly.  The shawl blew out against Hannah’s shoulder as she passed him.  She turned about and stared after him, and he knew it.  He went on with dogged chin in the folds of the shawl.

Hannah Berry hurried along to Sylvia Crane’s.  When she opened the door Sylvia was just coming out of the parlor, and the two sisters met in the entry with a kind of shock.

“Oh, it’s you,” murmured Sylvia.  Sylvia cast down her eyes before her sister.  She tried not to smile.  Her hair was tumbled and there were red spots on her cheeks.

“Has he been here all this time?” demanded Hannah.

“He’s just gone.”

“I met him out here.  What in creation did you rig him up in your old shawl for, Sylvy Crane?”

“He was in his shirt-sleeves, an’ I wasn’t goin’ to have him catch his death of cold,” replied Sylvia with dignity.

“In his shirt-sleeves!”

“Yes, he run out just as he was.”

“Land sakes!” said Hannah.  The two women looked at each other.  Suddenly Hannah threw out her arms from under her shawl, and clasped Sylvia.  “Oh, Sylvy,” she sobbed out, “to think you was settin’ out for the poor-house this mornin’, an’ we havin’ a weddin’ last night, an’ never knowin’ it!  Why didn’t you say anythin’ about it, why didn’t you, Sylvy?”

“I knew you couldn’t do anything, Hannah.”

“Knew I couldn’t do anything!  Do you suppose me or Sarah would have let all the sister we’ve got go to the poor-house whilst we had a roof over our heads?  We’d took you right in, either one of us.”

“I was afraid Silas an’ Cephas wouldn’t be willin’.”

“I guess they’d had to be willin’.  I told Silas just now that if Richard Alger didn’t come forward like a man, you was comin’ to my house, an’ have the best we’ve got as long as you lived.  Silas, he said he thought you’d ought to earn your own livin’, an’ I told him there wa’n’t any chance for a woman like you to earn your livin’ in Pembroke, that you could earn your livin’ enough livin’ at your own sister’s.  Oh, Sylvy, I can’t stand it, when I think of your startin’ out that way, an’ never sayin’ a word.”  Hannah sobbed convulsively on her sister’s shoulder.  There were tears in Sylvia’s eyes, but her face above her sister’s head was radiant.  “Don’t, Hannah,” she said.  “It’s all over now, you know.”