Part 56 (1/2)

”Won't you come to home, gal?” the man persisted. ”Won't you? I'm so desp'rit lonesome. An' the kids, too. Gee! they're jest yearnin' an'

yearnin' for you--nigh as bad as me.”

He took a step towards her with his arms outstretched. All his soul was in his mild eyes. And presently Jessie raised her head again. She stood staring at the wall opposite her. It was as though she dared not face him. Her eyes were burning, but they were less wild, and a sudden hope thrilled the man's heart. He hurried on, fearful lest the old storm should break out again--

”Y'see, Jess, ther' ain't nuthin' to our pore little shack on the 'dumps' without you. Ther' sure ain't. Then ther's my claim. I sold ha'f. An'--an' I got money now--I--”

The woman's eyes turned slowly upon him. They were red with unshed tears. Their expression was curious. There was doubt and shrinking in them. It almost seemed as if she were wondering if all the past days of regret and longing had turned her brain, and she were listening to words conjured by a distorted fancy, some insane delusion. She could not believe. But Scipio continued, and his voice was real enough.

”I--know I ain't much of a feller for the likes of you, Jess,” he said earnestly. ”I ain't quick. I ain't jest bright. But I do love you, my dear. I love you so I can't think nothin' else. I want you to home, Jess, that bad, I thank G.o.d ev'ry day He give you to me. I want you so bad it don't seem you ever bin away from me. I want you that bad I can't remember the last week or so. You'll come--to home, gal--now?

Think--jest think o' them bits o' twins. You wait till you see 'em laff when they get eyes on you. Say, they're that bonny an' bright.

They're jest like you, wi' their eyes all a-sparklin', an' their cheeks that rosy. Gee! they're jest a-yearnin' an' a-callin' fer their mam--same as me.”

The little man had moved another step nearer. His arms were still outstretched, and his quaint face was all aglow with the warmth and love that stirred him. Somewhere in the back of his dull head he knew that he was pleading for something more than his life. He had no subtlety in his manner or his words. It was just his heart talking for him and guiding him.

And in the woman had risen a sudden hope. It was a struggling ray of light in the blackness of her despair. It was a weak struggling flicker--just a flicker. And even as it rose its power was dashed again in the profundity of her suffering. She could not grasp the hand held out--she could not see it. She could not believe the words her ears heard.

”No, no, don't mock at me,” she cried, with a sudden return to her old wildness. ”It is cruel, cruel! Leave me. For pity's sake go. How can you stand there taunting me so? How can I go with you? How can I face my children now? Do you know what I am? No, no, of course you don't.

You could never understand. You, with your foolish, simple mind. Shall I tell you what I am? Shall I say it? Shall I--”

But the man's hand went up and held her silent.

”You don't need to say nothing, Jess,” he said in his mildest tone.

”You don't need to, sure. Whatever you are, you're all the world to me--jest all.”

With a sudden cry the woman's head dropped upon her outspread arms, and the merciful tears, so long denied her, gushed forth. Her body heaved, and it seemed to the distraught man that her poor heart must be breaking. He did not know what those tears meant to her. He did not know that the victory of his love was very, very near. Only he saw her bowed in pa.s.sionate distress, and he had no thought of how to comfort her.

He waited, waited. But the flood once broken loose must needs spend itself. Such is the way with women, of whom he had so small an understanding. He turned away to the window. He stared with unseeing eyes at the fair picture of the beautiful valley. The moments pa.s.sed--long, dreary moments rapidly changing to minutes. And then at last the storm began to die down, and he turned again towards her and drew a step nearer.

”Jess--Jess,” he murmured.

Then he took another hesitating step.

But his words seemed to have started her tears afresh, and into his eyes came that painful perplexity again.

Again he ventured, and his step this time brought him close to her side.

”Jess, gal--Jess,” he pleaded, with infinite tenderness.

And as the woman continued to sob he stole one arm gently about her waist. She made no move. Only her shaking body calmed, and her tears became more silent.

He strove to draw her towards him, but she clung to the bed-rail with almost child-like persistence, as though she dared not permit herself the hope his encircling arms inspired. But she had not rebuffed him, so with some a.s.sertion he thrust his other arm about her, and, exerting force, deliberately turned her towards him.

”Say, don't you to cry, la.s.s,” he whispered softly. ”Don't you, now.

It jest makes me sore right through. It jest makes me feel all of a choke, an'--an' I want to cry, too. Say, gal, I love you good. I do, Jess--I sure do. Ther' ain't nothin' in the world I wouldn't do to stop them tears. Come to home, gal--come to home.”

And as he finished speaking he drew her dark head down to his breast, and laid his thin cheek against her wealth of hair. And, pressing her to the home that was for all time hers, his own eyes filled with tears which slowly rolled down his cheeks and mingled themselves with hers.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII