Once on the street Martha paused with her brain on fire.  The lie which Lucy had told frightened her.  She knew why she had told it, and she knew, too, what harm would come to her bairn if that kind of gossip got abroad in the village.  She was no longer the gentle, loving nurse with the soft caressing hand, but a woman of purpose.  The sudden terror aroused in her heart had the effect of tightening her grip and bracing her shoulders as if the better to withstand some expected shock.

She forgot Meg; forgot her errand to the post-office; forgot everything, in fact, except the safety of the child she loved.  That Lucy had neglected and even avoided her of late, keeping out of her way even when she was in the house, and that she had received only cool indifference in place of loyal love, had greatly grieved her, but it had not lessened the idolatry with which she worshipped her bairn.  Hours at a time she had spent puzzling her brain trying to account for the change which had come over the girl during two short years of school.  She had until now laid this change to her youth, her love of admiration, and had forgiven it.  Now she understood it; it was that boy Bart.  He had a way with him.  He had even ingratiated himself into Miss Jane’s confidence.  And now this young girl had fallen a victim to his wiles.  That Lucy should lie to her, of all persons, and in so calm and self-possessed a manner; and about Bart, of all men—­ sent a shudder through her heart, that paled her cheek and tightened her lips.  Once before she had consulted Jane and had been rebuffed.  Now she would depend upon herself.

Retracing her steps and turning sharply to the right, she ordered Meg home in a firm voice, watched the dog slink off and then walked straight down a side road to Captain Nat Holt’s house.  That the captain occupied a different station in life from herself did not deter her.  She felt at the moment that the honor of the Cobden name lay in her keeping.  The family had stood by her in her trouble; now she would stand by them.

The captain sat on his front porch reading a newspaper.  He was in his shirt-sleeves and bareheaded, his straight hair standing straight out like the bristles of a shoe-brush.  Since the death of his wife a few years before he had left the service, and now spent most of his days at home, tending his garden and enjoying his savings.  He was a man of positive character and generally had his own way in everything.  It was therefore with some astonishment that he heard Martha say when she had mounted the porch steps and pushed open the front door, her breath almost gone in her hurried walk, “Come inside.”

Captain Holt threw down his paper and rising hurriedly from his chair, followed her into the sitting-room.  The manner of the nurse surprised him.  He had known her for years, ever since his old friend, Lucy’s father, had died, and the tones of her voice, so different from her usual deferential air, filled him with apprehension.