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But now! In her cabin, alone, after midnight, she arose from her sleepless bed, and lighting the candle, stood before his photograph. It is a good face, her great-aunt had said, after some study of it. And these words were in her mind now. There his likeness stood at full length, confronting her: the spurs on the boots, the fringed leathern chaparreros, the coiled rope in hand, the pistol at hip, the rough flannel shirt, and the scarf knotted at the throat--and then the grave eyes, looking at her. It thrilled her to meet them, even so. She could read life into them. She seemed to feel passion come from them, and then something like reproach. She stood for a long while looking at him, and then, beating her hands together suddenly, she blew out her light and went back into bed, but not to sleep. Youre looking pale, deary, said Mrs. Taylor to her, a few days later. Am I? And you dont eat anything. Oh, yes, I do. And Molly retired to her cabin. George, said Mrs. Taylor, you come here. It may seem severe--I think that it was severe. That evening when Mr. Taylor came home to his family, George received a thrashing for disobedience. And I suppose, said Mrs. Taylor to her husband, that she came out just in time to stop em breaking Bob Carmodys neck for him. Upon the day following Mrs. Taylor essayed the impossible. She took herself over to Molly Woods cabin. The girl gave her a listless greeting, and the dame sat slowly down, and surveyed the comfortable room. A very nice home, deary, said she, if it was a home. But youll fix something like this in your real home, I have no doubt. Molly made no answer. What were going to do without you I cant see, said Mrs. Taylor. But Id not have it different for worlds. Hell be coming back soon, I expect. Mrs. Taylor, said Molly, all at once, please dont say anything now. I cant stand it. And she broke into wretched tears. Why, deary, he-- No; not a word. Please, please--Ill go out if you do. The older woman went to the younger one, and then put her arms round her. But when the tears were over, they had not done any good; it was not the storm that clears the sky--all storms do not clear the sky. And Mrs. Taylor looked at the pale girl and saw that she could do nothing to help her toward peace of mind. Of course, she said to her husband, after returning from her profitless errand, you might know shed feel dreadful. What about? said Taylor. |
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