Part 16 (2/2)

”Oh, you scared me so!” she panted.

Each then waited as if for the other to speak, and the silence seemed long.

”Were you going out somewhere?” asked Joe.

”No; I forgot to put away a few things, and I came down,” said she. ”I woke up out of my sleep thinking of them,” she added.

”Well!” said he, wonderingly. ”Can I help you any, Ollie?”

”No; it's only some milk and things,” she told him. ”You know how Isom takes on if he finds anything undone. I was afraid he might come in tonight and see them.”

”Well!” said Joe again, in a queer, strained way.

He was standing in the door, blocking it with his body, clenching the jamb with his hands on either side, as if to bar any attempt that she might make to pa.s.s.

”Will you strike a light, Ollie? I want to have a talk with you,” said he gravely.

”Oh, Joe!” she protested, as if pleasantly scandalized by the request, intentionally misreading it.

”Have you got another match in your hand? Light the lamp.”

”Oh, what's the use?” said she. ”I only ran down for a minute. We don't need the light, do we, Joe? Can't you talk without it?”

”No; I want you to light the lamp,” he insisted.

”I'll not do it!” she flared suddenly, turning as if to go to her room.

”You've not got any right to boss me around in my own house!”

”I don't suppose I have, Ollie, and I didn't mean to,” said he, stepping into the room.

Ollie retreated a few steps toward the inner door, and stopped. Joe could hear her excited breathing as he flung his hat on the table.

”Ollie, what I've got to say to you has to be said sooner or later tonight, and you'd just as well hear it now,” said Joe, trying to a.s.sure her of his friendly intent by speaking softly, although his voice was tremulous. ”Morgan's gone; he'll not be back--at least not tonight.”

”Morgan?” said she. ”What do you mean--what do I care where he's gone?”

Joe made no reply. He fumbled for the box behind the stove and sc.r.a.ped a slow sulphur match against the pipe. Its light discovered Ollie shrinking against the wall where she had stopped, near the door.

She was wearing a straw hat, which must have been a part of her bridal gear. A long white veil, which she wore scarf-wise over the front display of its flowers and fruits, came down and crossed behind her neck. Its ends dangled upon her breast. The dress was one that Joe never had seen her wear before, a girlish white thing with narrow ruffles. He wondered as he looked at her with a great ache in his heart, how so much seeming purity could be so base and foul. In that bitter moment he cursed old Isom in his heart for goading her to this desperate bound.

She had been starving for a man's love, and for the lack of it she had thrown herself away on a dog.

Joe fitted the chimney on the burner of the lamp, and stood in judicial seriousness before her, the stub of the burning match wasting in a little blaze between his fingers.

”Morgan's gone,” he repeated, ”and he'll never come back. I know all about you two, and what you'd planned to do.”

Joe dropped the stub of the match and set his foot on it.

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