“I understand that. She told Jinny she wouldn’t take your money. She told her story--in a way--to Jinny. She admitted that she loved you still, that she had always loved you. You were the only good man who had ever loved her, she said. Then she fainted. Jinny sent for Dr. Barbour. It happened that your brother Dan was over there. He came back with Lucas. I was out, and he and Jinny brought Fanchon to our house. He had been looking for Fanchon. He had guessed that she hadn’t any money, and he wanted to pay Jinny back for the expenses. He’s shared our watch over Fanchon, but”--the colonel smiled--“he wouldn’t interfere. That’s what he said. So Jinny sent me. Fanchon has been out of her head, and all night, sometimes all day, she’s calling you, William. Her pride, her poor little hurt pride, took her away, but now she calls and calls.” The colonel rose quietly and took up his hat. “I think that’s all. I came to tell you. She’s suffered, and she saved Leigh; but if you feel you can’t forgive her--” Mrs. Carter was crying. “Oh, Johnson, I think we ought to go,” she said. Mr. Carter said nothing, but glanced silently at William. So did Colonel Denbigh. “William,” said the latter gravely, “Jinny said, ‘Tell William that Fanchon loves him as few women love, and she’s calling him!’ She lies there, quite out of her head still, William, calling and calling to her husband.” Mrs. Carter got up and put on her hat. “I’m coming with you, colonel,” she sobbed. “I’ve felt it was all wrong. We were hard on her, poor girl!” “No, mother, I’ll go,” said William. “It’s my business. I’m going with you, colonel.” The colonel straightened himself. “Thank God!” he said simply. He was aware that Mr. Carter, red and out of breath, was being urged into his coat and hat by his wife. He was to take them all, then. It was lucky he had brought the wagonette instead of the old rockaway. The wagonette was waiting outside under the shadow of a tree, the horses carefully netted, and Lucas wearing a brown linen coat and a big straw hat. Colonel Denbigh helped Mrs. Carter up the high steps and they started, the colonel and Mr. Carter on one side and Mrs. Carter and William on the other. Facing each other thus, an awkward silence fell, broken only by the heavy tread of the horses’ hoofs. They were almost half-way out there before the colonel thought of anything to say. “The oats came on well this year, Carter,” he remarked at last, with forced cheerfulness. “Fine crop!” Mr. Carter, whose feet still felt several sizes too large for his shoes, let his misery loose. “I wouldn’t give a cent for the oat-crop,” he said bluntly. “I’m not a horse.” The colonel, startled for a moment, exploded into laughter, but Mrs. Carter was shocked.