What were jewels or money, in the face of a danger so awful as that
which now threatened her friend, and, through her, the whole village?

Days of suspense followed. From the moment when the weeping,
agonized Lena was taken home and put, tenderly, pityingly, in her
mother's hands (it was Mr. Gordon himself who had done this, refusing
to let any other perform the duty), an invisible line was drawn
about the Laxen cottage, which few dared pass. The doctor came and
went, reporting all well to the eager questioners. Mr. Gordon called
daily to inquire, and every evening Mary Denison stole to the door
with a paper or magazine for Lena and her mother, or some home-made
delicacy that might please the imprisoned girl. Lena was usually at
the window, sometimes defiant and blustering, sometimes wild with
fright, sometimes again crying for sheer loneliness and vexation;
but always behind her was her mother's pale face of dread, and her
thin voice saying that Lena was "as well as common, thank ye," and
she and Mary would exchange glances, and Mary would go away drawing
breath, and thanking the Lord that another day was gone.

So on, for nine anxious days; but on the tenth, when Mary looked up
at the window, the mother stood there alone, crying; and the doctor,
coming out of the house at the moment, told Mary harshly to keep away
from him, and not to come so near the house.

In the dreadful days that followed, his people learned to know
George Gordon as they had never known him before. The grave, silent
man, who never spoke save when speech was necessary, was now among
them every day, going from room to room with cheerful greetings,
encouraging, heartening, raising the drooping spirits, and rebuking
sharply the croakers, who foretold with dismal unction a general