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"At every turn, Morena's dusky height Sustains aloft the battery's iron load, And, far as mortal eye can compass sight, The mountain-howitzer, the broken road, The bristling palisade, the foss o'erflowed, The stationed band, the never-vacant watch, The magazine in rocky durance stand, The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match."
Prosper did not notice the Jew's intelligent expression. He was too much absorbed in his own excitement. In a moment he would be with Joan Joan, his love of winter nights! Morena tapped upon a door. A maid half-opened it. "Ask Miss West, please, if she will see a friend of Mr. Morena's. Tell her I particularly wish her to give him a private interview."
She received Prosper, very early in this convalescence, by her husband's bed, and Jasper had murmured gratitude for the emotion that threatened to overwhelm his friend. It was not till some time an extraordinarily long time after Morena's complete recovery that she had snapped like a broken icicle. And then, forsooth, they had sent her to Wyoming to get back her health!
The doctor had seen the quick, desperate moisture in them. "I tell you what, Landis," he said, putting a hand on Pierre's shoulder. "I'm willing to take a risk. I'm sure of one thing. Miss West hasn't even heard of your inquiries." "You mean Morena's making it up about her not being willing to see me?" "I do mean that. And no doubt he's doing it with the best intentions.
Morena's tact was still complete; he was very gentle to the long-nosed youth; but the latter, had he been capable of seeing anything but himself, must have noticed that his listener's face was pale and faintly lined. "Yes, my boy, of course, that's reasonable enough. I'll do what I can."
For a second she and Jasper Morena's wife looked at each other. Betty nodded, smiled, and drew the curtain close. After that night, there began a sort of persecution, skillfully conducted by Jasper and Betty, against the ferocity of Jane. It was a persecution impossible to imagine in any other setting, even the social simplicity of Lazy-Y found itself a trifle amused.
Pierre's experience of theater-going was exceedingly small. He had never been in so large a play-house as this one of Morena's; he had never seen so large and well-dressed an audience; never heard a full and well-trained orchestra. In spite of himself, he began to be distracted, excited, stirred.
Their absence gave him a faint sensation of alarm. "Mr. Kane, Mrs. Morena's brother, has called to see you, sir. He is waiting." Jasper's eyebrows rose. "To see me? Is he with Mrs. Morena now?" "No, sir. Mrs. Morena went out this morning and has not yet returned. Mr. Kane has been here since five o'clock, sir." "Very well." It was a mechanical speech of dismissal. The footman went off.
"Perhaps," drawled Jane, "he was just a feller who asked too many questions?" Again Morena's smile deepened into his cheeks. He gave way, in the Jewish fashion so deceptively suggestive of meekness and timidity, when it is, at its worst, merely pliable insolence, at its best, pliable determination. "You must pardon me, Miss Jane," he said in his murmuring, cultivated voice.
"I am thirsty myself," one of the guard said, "and it does us good to see them thirst." "What, has no one brought you anything to drink?" Tom said, in a tone of surprise. "Here, Peter, you give this bread and water to these prisoners; I will run to Mother Morena's and bring some wine for the guard."
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