CHAPTER XV

“Let us be calm,” said Uncle Benjamin. “Let us be perfectly calm.”

“Calm!” Mrs. Frederick wrung her hands. “How can I be calm—how could

anybody be calm under such a disgrace as this?”

“Why in the world did you let her go?” asked Uncle James.

“_Let_ her! How could I stop her, James? It seems she packed the big

valise and sent it away with Roaring Abel when he went home after

supper, while Christine and I were out in the kitchen. Then Doss

herself came down with her little satchel, dressed in her green serge

suit. I felt a terrible premonition. I can’t tell you how it was, but I

seemed to _know_ that Doss was going to do something dreadful.”

“It’s a pity you couldn’t have had your premonition a little sooner,”

said Uncle Benjamin drily.

“I said, ‘Doss, _where are you going_?’ and _she_ said, ‘I am going to

look for my Blue Castle.’”

“Wouldn’t you think _that_ would convince Marsh that her mind is

affected?” interjected Uncle James.

“And _I_ said, ‘Valancy, what _do_ you mean?’ And _she_ said, ‘I am

going to keep house for Roaring Abel and nurse Cissy. He will pay me

thirty dollars a month.’ I wonder I didn’t drop dead on the spot.”

“You shouldn’t have let her go—you shouldn’t have let her out of the

house,” said Uncle James. “You should have locked the door—anything——”

“She was between me and the front door. And you can’t realise how

determined she was. She was like a rock. That’s the strangest thing of

all about her. She used to be so good and obedient, and now she’s

neither to hold nor bind. But I said _everything_ I could think of to

bring her to her senses. I asked her if she had no regard for her

reputation. I said to her solemnly, ‘Doss, when a woman’s reputation is

once smirched nothing can ever make it spotless again. Your character

will be gone for ever if you go to Roaring Abel’s to wait on a bad girl

like Sis Gay.’ And she said, ‘I don’t believe Cissy was a bad girl, but

I don’t care if she was.’ Those were her very words, ‘I don’t care if

she was.’”

“She has lost all sense of decency,” exploded Uncle Benjamin.

“‘Cissy Gay is dying,’ she said, ‘and it’s a shame and disgrace that

she is dying in a Christian community with no one to do anything for

her. Whatever she’s been or done, she’s a human being.’”

“Well, you know, when it comes to that, I suppose she is,” said Uncle

James with the air of one making a splendid concession.

“I asked Doss if she had no regard for appearances. She said, ‘I’ve

been keeping up appearances all my life. Now I’m going in for

realities. Appearances can go hang!’ _Go hang!_”

“An outrageous thing!” said Uncle Benjamin violently. “An outrageous

thing!”

Which relieved his feelings, but didn’t help any one else.

Mrs. Frederick wept. Cousin Stickles took up the refrain between her

moans of despair.

“I told her—we _both_ told her—that Roaring Abel had certainly killed

his wife in one of his drunken rages and would kill her. She laughed

and said, ‘I’m not afraid of Roaring Abel. He won’t kill _me_, and he’s

too old for me to be afraid of his gallantries.’ What did she mean?

What _are_ gallantries?”

Mrs. Frederick saw that she must stop crying if she wanted to regain

control of the conversation.

“_I_ said to her, ‘Valancy, if you have no regard for your own

reputation and your family’s standing, have you none for _my_

feelings?’ She said, ‘None.’ Just like that, _‘None!’_”

“Insane people never _do_ have any regard for other people’s feelings,”

said Uncle Benjamin. “That’s one of the symptoms.”

“I broke out into tears then, and she said, ‘Come now, Mother, be a

good sport. I’m going to do an act of Christian charity, and as for the

damage it will do my reputation, why, you know I haven’t any

matrimonial chances anyhow, so what does it matter?’ And with that she

turned and went out.”

“The last words I said to her,” said Cousin Stickles pathetically,

“were, ‘Who will rub my back at nights now?’ And she said—she said—but

no, I cannot repeat it.”

“Nonsense,” said Uncle Benjamin. “Out with it. This is no time to be

squeamish.”

“She said”—Cousin Stickles’ voice was little more than a whisper—“she

said—_‘Oh, darn!’_”

“To think I should have lived to hear my daughter swearing!” sobbed

Mrs. Frederick.

“It—it was only imitation swearing,” faltered Cousin Stickles, desirous

of smoothing things over now that the worst was out. But she had

_never_ told about the bannister.

“It will be only a step from that to real swearing,” said Uncle James

sternly.

“The worst of this”—Mrs. Frederick hunted for a dry spot on her

handkerchief—“is that every one will know now that she is deranged. We

can’t keep it a secret any longer. Oh, I cannot bear it!”

“You should have been stricter with her when she was young,” said Uncle

Benjamin.

“I don’t see how I could have been,” said Mrs. Frederick—truthfully

enough.

“The worst feature of the case is that that Snaith scoundrel is always

hanging around Roaring Abel’s,” said Uncle James. “I shall be thankful

if nothing worse comes of this mad freak than a few weeks at Roaring

Abel’s. Cissy Gay _can’t_ live much longer.”

“And she didn’t even take her flannel petticoat!” lamented Cousin

Stickles.

“I’ll see Ambrose Marsh again about this,” said Uncle Benjamin—meaning

Valancy, not the flannel petticoat.

“I’ll see Lawyer Ferguson,” said Uncle James.

“Meanwhile,” added Uncle Benjamin, “let us be calm.”