She would never come now, he said, and he built many fancies
as to what her end had been, and where her grave could be. Here at
Clifton he had thought of her continually, but not that she was alive.
Andy's faith in her return was as strong as ever, but Richard's had all
died out. Ethie was dead, and when asked by Dr. Hayes if he had a wife,
he answered sadly:
"I had one, but I lost her."
He had no thought of deception, or how soon the story would circulate
through the house that he was a widower, and so he, as ex-governor of
Iowa, and a man just in his prime, became an object of speculative
interest to every marriageable woman there. He had no thought, no care
for the ladies, though for the Miss Bigelow, whom his boots annoyed, he
did feel a passing interest, and Ethie, whose ears seemed doubly sharp,
heard him in his closet adjusting the thin-soled slippers, which made no
sound upon the carpet. She heard him, too, as he moved his water
pitcher, and knew he was doing it so quietly for her. The idea of being
cared for by him, even if he did not know who she was, was very soothing
and pleasant, and she fell into a quiet sleep, which lasted several
hours, while Richard, on the other side of the wall, scarcely moved, so
fearful was he of worrying the young lady.
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