Margaret started.

“Yes,” she said.

The girl merely looked at her—­long and hard.  Once her lips moved: 

“Mar-ga-ret,” and still she looked.  “Do you know whar Chad is?”

Margaret flushed.

“Who are you?”

“Melissy.”

Melissa!  The two girls looked deep into each other’s eyes and, for one flashing moment, each saw the other’s heart—­bared and beating—­and Margaret saw, too, a strange light ebb slowly from the other’s face and a strange shadow follow slowly after.

“You mean Major Buford?”

“I mean Chad.  Is he dead?”

“No, he is bringing my brother home.”

“Harry?”

“No—­Dan.”

“Dan—­here?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“As soon as my brother gets well enough to travel.  He is wounded.”

Melissa turned her face then.  Her mouth twitched and her clasped hands were working in and out.  Then she turned again.

“I come up here from the mountains, afoot jus’ to tell ye—­to tell you that Chad ain’t no”—­ she stopped suddenly, seeing Margaret’s quick flush—­“Chad’s mother was married. I jus’ found it out last week.  He ain’t no—­“—­she started fiercely again and stopped again.  “But I come here fer him—­not fer you.  You oughtn’t to ‘a’ keered.  Hit wouldn’t ‘a’ been his fault.  He never was the same after he come back from here.  Hit worried him most to death, an’ I know hit was you—­you he was always thinkin’ about.  He didn’t keer ’cept fer you.”  Again that shadow came and deepened.  “An’ you oughtn’t to ‘a’ keered what he was—­and that’s why I hate you,” she said, calmly—­“fer worryin’ him an’ bein’ so high-heeled that you was willin’ to let him mighty nigh bust his heart about somethin’ that wasn’t his fault.  I come fer him—­you understand—­fer him.  I hate you!”

She turned without another word, walked slowly back down the walk and through the gate.  Margaret stood dazed, helpless, almost frightened.  She heard the girl cough and saw now that she walked as if weak and ill.  As she turned into the road, Margaret ran down the steps and across the fields to the turnpike.  When she reached the road-fence the girl was coming around the bend her eyes on the ground, and every now and then she would cough and put her hand to her breast.  She looked up quickly, hearing the noise ahead of her, and stopped as Margaret climbed the low stone wall and sprang down.

“Melissa, Melissa!  You mustn’t hate me.  You mustn’t hate me.”  Margaret’s eyes were streaming and her voice trembled with kindness.  She walked up to the girl and put one hand on her shoulder.  “You are sick.  I know you are, and you must come back to the house.”

Melissa gave way then, and breaking from the girl’s clasp she leaned against the stone wall and sobbed, while Margaret put her arms about her and waited silently.