The Man Thou Gavest. Harriet T. Comstock

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “The face, Nella-Rose?”

      “No, I can’t make that come. But things I want to, do and have. I always think, when I see things, that I’m going to do a big, fine thing some day. I feel upperty and then—poof! off go the pictures and I am just—lil’ Nella-Rose again!”

      A comically heavy sigh brought Truedale back to earth.

      “But the face you saw long ago,” Truedale whispered, “was it my face, do you think?”

      Nella-Rose paused—then quietly:

      “I—reckon it was. Yes, I’m mighty sure it was your face. When I saw it at that window”—she pointed across the room—“I certainly thought my eyes were closed and that—it had come—the kind, good face that saved me!” A sweet, friendly smile wreathed the girl’s lips and she rose with rare dignity and held out her thin, delicate hand:

      “Mister Outlander, we’re going to be neighbours, aren’t we?”

      “Yes—neighbours!” Truedale took the hand with a distinct sense of suffocation, “but why do you call me an outlander?”

      “Because—you are! You’re not of our mountains.”

      “No, I wish I were!”

      “Wishing can’t make you. You are—or you aren’t.”

      Truedale noted the girl’s language. Distorted and crude as it often was, it was never positively illiterate. This surprised him.

      “You—oh! you’re not going yet!” He put his hand out, for the definite way in which Nella-Rose turned was ominous. Already she seemed to belong to the cabin room—to Truedale himself. Not a suggestion of strangeness clung to her. It was as if she had always been there but that his eyes had been holden.

      “I must go!”

      “Wait—oh! Nella-Rose. Let me walk part of the way with you. I—I have a thousand things to say.”

      But she was gone out of the door, down the path.

      Truedale stood and looked after her until the long shadows reached up to Lone Dome’s sharpest edge. White’s dogs began nosing about, suggesting attention to affairs nearer at hand. Then Truedale sighed as if waking from a dream. He performed the duties Jim had left to his tender mercy—the feeding of the animals, the piling up of wood. Then he forced himself to take a long walk. He ate his evening meal late, and finally sat down to his task of writing letters. He wrote six to Brace Kendall and tore them up; he wrote one to his uncle and put it aside for consideration when the effect of his day dreams left him sane enough to judge it. Finally he managed a note to Dr. McPherson and one to Lynda Kendall.

      “I think”—so the letter to Lynda ran—“that I will work regularly, now, on the play. With more blood in my own body I can hope to put more into that. I’m going to get it out to-morrow and begin the infusion. I wish you were here to-night—to see the wonderful effect of the moon on the mists—but there! if I said more you might guess where I am. When I come back I shall try to describe it and some day you must see it. Several times lately I have imagined an existence here with one’s work and enough to subsist on. No worry, no nerve-racking, and always the tremendous beauty to inspire one! Nothing seems wholly real here.”

      Then Truedale put down his pen. Nella-Rose crowded Lynda Kendall from the field of vision; later, he simply signed his name and let the note go with that.

      As for Nella-Rose, as soon as she left Truedale, her mind turned to sterner matters close at hand. She became aware before long of some one near by. The person, whoever it was, seemed determined to remain hidden but for that very reason it called out all the girl’s cunning and cleverness. It might be—Burke Lawson! With this thought Nella-Rose gasped a little. Then, it might be Marg; and here the dark eyes grew hard—the lips almost cruel! She got down upon her knees and crawled like a veritable little animal of the wilds. Keeping close to the ground, she advanced to where the trail from Lone Dome met the broader one, and there, standing undecided and bewildered, was a tall, fair girl.

      Nella-Rose sprang to her feet, her eyes ablaze.

      “Marg! What you—hounding me for?”

      “Nella-Rose, where you been?”

      “What’s that to you?”

      “You’ve been up to Devil-may-come Hollow!”

      “Have I? Let me pass, Marg. Have your mully-grubs, if you please; I’m going home.”

      As Nella-Rose tried to pass, Marg caught her by the arm.

      “Burke’s back!” she whispered, “he’s hiding up to Devil-may-come! He’s been seen and you know it!”

      “What if I do?” Nella-Rose never ignored a possible escape for the future.

      “You’ve been up there—to meet him. You ought to be licked. If you don’t let him alone—let him and me alone—I’ll turn Jed on him, I will; I swear it!”

      “What is he—to you!” Nella-Rose confronted her sister squarely. Blue eyes—bold, cold blue they were—looked into dark ones even now so soft and winning that it was difficult to resist them.

      “If you let him alone, he’ll be everything to me!” Marg blurted out. “What do you want of him, Nella-Rose?—of him or any other man? But if you must have a sweetheart, pick and choose and let me have my day.”

      The rough appeal struck almost brutally on Nella-Rose’s ears. She was as un-moral, perhaps, as Marg, but she was more discriminating.

      “I’m mighty tired of cleaning and cooking for—for father and you!” Marg tossed her head toward Lone Dome. “Father’s mostly always drunk these days and you—what do you care what becomes of me? Leave me to get a man of my own and then I’ll be human. I’ve been—killing the hog to-day!” Marg suddenly and irrelevantly burst out; “I—I shall never do it again. We’ll starve first!”

      “Why didn’t father?” Nella-Rose said, softly.

      “Father? Huh! he couldn’t have held the knife. He went for the jug—and got it full! No, I had to do it, but it’s the last time. Nella-Rose, tell me where Burke is hidden—tell me! Leave me free to—to win him; let me have my chance!”

      “And then who’ll kill the pig?” Nella-Rose shuddered.

      “Who cares?” Marg flung back.

      “No! Find him if you can. Fair play—no favours; what I find is open to you!” Nella-Rose laughed impishly and, darting past her sister, ran down the path.

      Marg stood and watched her with baffled rage and hate. For a moment she almost decided to take her chances and seek Burke Lawson in the distant Hollow. But night was coming—the black, drear night of the low places. Marg was desperate, but a primitive conservatism held her. Not for all she hoped to gain would she brave Burke Lawson alone in the secret places of Devil-may-come Hollow! So she followed after Nella-Rose and reached home while her sister was preparing the evening meal.

      Peter Greyson, СКАЧАТЬ