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'Yes. He met me when I came out of Mrs. Bower's, and asked me if I thought you would. Thyrza was silent for a little, then she said: 'I can't go with him alone, Lyddy. I don't mind if you go too. 'But that's just what he doesn't want, said her sister, with a smile which was not quite natural. Thyrza averted her eyes, and began to speak of something else.
In the dead ashes of the Judge's pipe, scattered on his shelf, still lived his old fire; in the whittled and carved edges of the Left Bower's bunk still were the memories of bygone days of delicious indolence; in the bullet-holes clustered round a knot of one of the beams there was still the record of the Right Bower's old-time skill and practice; in the few engravings of female loveliness stuck upon each headboard there were the proofs of their old extravagant devotion all a mute protest to the change.
Yet, had anything of the kind come to pass, Mary would have been the first to hasten with consolation. Thyrza went downstairs, and the two gossiped as tea was made ready. Mary had already heard of the incident at the 'Prince Albert; such a piece of news could not be long in reaching Mrs. Bower's. She wished to speak of it, yet was in uncertainty whether Lydia had already been told.
It was Helen who protested, firmly enough. "The lightning seems to have given us an attack of nerves," she said. "It would be ridiculous to rush off in that manner " "But there is peril real peril in delay. I admit it. I was wrong." Bower's anxiety was only too evident. Spencer, regarding him from a single viewpoint, deemed him a coward, and his gorge rose at the thought.
To-day you shall marry Etta!" Bower's neck was purple above the line of his white collar. The veins stood out on his temples. He looked like one in the throes of apoplexy. "For Heaven's sake! what do you mean?" he panted. "I mean just what I say. This is your wedding day. Your bride lies there, waiting. Never did woman wait for her man so still and patient." "Come away, Stampa!
It mattered not a jot to Stampa that he was usurping the functions of the Church in an outlandish travesty of her ritual. He was sustained by a fixed belief that the daughter so heartlessly reft from him was present in spirit, nay, more, that she was profoundly grateful for this belated sanctifying of an unhallowed love. Bower's feelings or convictions were not of the slightest consequence.
Bower's business depended on the indolence and indifference to small economies of those women who lived in her immediate neighbourhood.
It can't mean nothin' else, or it wouldn't be addressed to you, pap. 'Hospital at Chattanooga. Chattanooga's near where the battle was fought. 'Badly wounded. That means Si's bin shot. 'E. C. Bower's ox. What in the world can that be?" "Bowersox?" said her father, catching the sound. "Why, that's the name o' the Lootenant Si and Shorty was under when they came home.
Spencer had a few seconds in which to steal a backward glance, and a flash of lightning happened to glimmer on Bower's features. The American was not given to fanciful imaginings; but during many a wild hour in the Far West he had seen the baleful frown of murder on a man's face too often not to recognize it now in this snow scourged cleft of a mighty Alpine glacier. Yet he was helpless.
Like those earlier pieces, the ballads of the second volume bring with them the question of the poetic value of the "refrain" Eden bower's in flower: And O the bower and the hour! and the like. Two of those ballads Troy Town and Eden Bower, are terrible in theme; and the refrain serves, perhaps, to relieve their bold aim at the sentiment of terror.
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