In an instant Caius remembered that,
if the man had any feeling about him, the question was the sorest he
could have asked--the child, who would now have been a girl, drowned,
her sister and brother exiled, and Day bound over by legal authority to
see to it that no defenceless person came in the way of the wife who had
killed her child! A moment more, and Day had merely turned his back,
going on with his work. Caius did not blame him; he respected the man
the more for the feeling he displayed.
Vexed with himself, and not finding how to end the interview, Caius
waited a minute, and then turned suddenly from the fence, without
knowing why he turned until he saw that the constraining force was the
presence of Day's wife, who stood at the end of the barn, out of sight
of her husband, but looking eagerly at Caius. She made a sign to him to
come. No doubt she had heard what had been said.
Caius went to her, drawn by the eagerness of her bright black eyes. Her
large form was slightly clad in a cotton gown; her abundant black hair
was fastened rather loosely about her head. Her high-boned cheeks were
thinner than of old, and her face wore a more excited expression;
otherwise, there was little difference in her. She had been sent from
the asylum as cured. Caius gave her a civil "Good-day."
"She has come back to me!" said the woman.
"Who?"
"My baby as you've put up the stone to.
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