Hepsy was _bought_, and offered to swear on a “stack of Bibles high as the house” that she’d be silent as the dead, but Geraldine declined the pleasure of receiving the oath, and after a few more remarks, took her leave. For a time after she was gone, Oliver sat completely stunned by what he had heard. Then the thought burst upon him, “How delighted Milly will be,” and he determined to be himself the bearer of the joyful news. He could write it, he knew, but there might be some delay in the mails and he would rather go himself. Geraldine could not receive an answer from Esther Bennett until the second day, and on the third Hepsy would probably take to Beechwood this new proof of Mildred’s parentage. By that time he could find Mildred and bringing her home could confront the wicked plotters and render their plotting of no avail. Once he thought to tell the Judge, but knowing he could not keep it, he decided not to do so. Lawrence was better that day,—the crisis was past, the physicians said, and having no fears for him, he resolved to keep his secret from every one. By going to Springfield that night he could take the early train and so reach Dresden the next day, a thing he greatly desired to do, as it was the day once appointed for Mildred’s bridal. He glanced at his gold watch, Mildred’s gift, and saw that it wanted but half an hour of the time when the last train was due. Hastily changing his clothes, and forgetting all about his feeble health, he went down-stairs and astonished his grandmother by saying he was going to Springfield. “To Springfield!” she screamed, “when you can scarcely set up all day. Are you crazy, boy? What are you going there for?” “Oh, I know,” he returned, affecting to laugh. “It’s just occurred to me that I must be there early to-morrow morning, and in order to do that, I must go to-night.” He did not wait for further comment from old Hepsy, who, perfectly confounded, watched him till he disappeared in the moonlight, muttering to herself: “I’ve mistrusted all along that he was gettin’ lightheaded.” But Oliver’s mind was never clearer in his life, and he hastened on, reaching the depot just in time for the downward train, which carried him in safety to Springfield, and when next morning Geraldine before her glass was brushing her jet-black hair, and thinking within herself how nicely her plans were working, he was on his way to Mildred. He did not reach the terminus of his railroad route until the Dresden stage had been gone several hours, and to his inquiries for some other mode of conveyance, he invariably received the same answer: “Every hoss and every wagon has gone to the big camp-meetin’ up in the north woods.” “How far is it to Dresden?” he asked. “A little short of ten mile,” returned the ticket agent. “You can walk it easy; though I don’t know ’bout that,” and he glanced at Oliver’s crippled feet. “Mebby you’ll get a ride. There’s allus somebody goin’ that way.”