"I'm--I'm frightened of him--I'm
frightened, in spite of myself. . . . He doesn't treat me right," she
added. "And I'm terribly frightened."
She raised her eyes to Orlando's face in the growing dusk--there is no
twilight in that prairie land--and there was that in it which made her
feel that she must not give way any further. In Orlando's veins was
Southern sap, mixed with Northern blood; in Orlando's eyes was a sudden
look belonging to that which defies the law.
"Don't--don't look like that," she exclaimed. "Oh, Orlando!"
Once more he heard her speak his name, and it was like salve to a wound.
He put a hand upon himself. "I'll go to Tralee," he said, "if you don't
mind waiting here alone."
"I can't. I will not wait alone. If you go, then I'll go too somehow....
It's twelve miles. You couldn't get there till midnight, and you couldn't
get back here with a wagon for another couple of hours from that. It
would be daylight then. I can't stay here alone. I'm frightened, and I'm
cold."
"Wait a minute," said Orlando.
He ran back to the dead horse, unloosed the saddle from its back,
detached from it a rain-coat strapped to the pommel, and brought it to
her.
"This will keep you warm," he said. "It isn't cold to-night. You only
feel cold because you're upset and nervous."
"I'm frightened," she answered; "frightened of everything. Listen! Don't
you hear something stirring--there!" She peered fearfully into the dusk
behind them.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98