"I couldn't see her face; it was too far away," answered Burlingame
suggestively, "but you can form your own conclusions--and the express is
due in thirty minutes!"
He looked at his watch complacently. "What's the good, Mazarine? Why
don't you say, 'Go and sin no more?' Or why don't you divorce her with
the evidence about that night on the prairie? I could have got you a
verdict and damages. Yes, I could have got you plenty of damages. He's
rich. You took her back and condoned; you condoned, Mazarine, and now
you'll neither have damages nor wife--and the express goes in thirty
minutes!"
"The express won't take Mrs. Mazarine away tonight," the old man said, a
look of jungle fierceness filling his face.
Burlingame laughed unpleasantly. "Yes, you'll foul your own nest,
Mazarine, and then bring her back to live in it. I know you. It isn't the
love of God in your heart, because you'll never forgive her; but you'll
bring her back to the nest you fouled, just because you want her--'You
damned and luxurious mountain goat,' as Shakespeare called your kind."
With another laugh, which somewhat resembled that of the two strange
vanished Chinamen, Burlingame flicked his horse and cantered away. A
little time afterwards, however, he turned and looked toward Askatoon,
and he saw the old man whipping his horse into a gallop to reach Askatoon
railway station before the express went East.
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