He gathered from such observations as he could maintain without
being suspected, by every crumb of gossip that he could pick up (for
once he listened to gossip as if it were gospel), that they were in
trouble, that Edith was looking for work, and that she was so superior
to the rest of the family that they now all deferred to her and leaned
upon her. Then, to his deep satisfaction, he had seen Elliot, the
morning after his scathing repulse, going to the train, and looking
forlorn and sadly out of humor, and he was quite sure he had not been
near the little cottage since. Arden needed but little fact upon which
to rear a wondrous superstructure, and here seemed much, and all in
Edith's favor, and he longed with an intensity beyond language to do
something to help her.
Then came the tragedy of Zell's flight, Edith's heroic and almost
superhuman effort to save her, now followed by her pathetic weakness
and suffering, and no knight in the romantic age of chivalry ever more
wholly and loyally devoted himself to the high-born lady of his
choice, than did Arden to the poor sick girl at whom the finger of
scorn would now be generally pointed in Pushton.
To come back to our hero, galloping away on his old farm horse to find
a country doctor, may seem a short step down from the sublime.
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