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Updated: May 2, 2025
A chill fear shook Priscilla as she began to comprehend the meaning of Farwell's words. In her life Boswell, and this man beside her, stood for friendship in its truest, highest sense, and she felt that she must hold them together in spite of everything. She stood still and gripped Farwell's arm.
Then, alone and spent, Farwell returned to his cottage with a sure sense that before he slept he would know his fate, for he acknowledged that his fate lay largely, now, in the hands of the man who no longer had any doubt of his identity. It was half-past eight when the buggy passed Farwell's window bound for the Hill Place. Young Travers was driving and the seat beside him was empty!
"'Twas Glenn's girl," panted Long Jean; "Priscilla!" "Ugh!" grunted Tom as his ancestors had often grunted in the past. "Ugh!" That was all for the day, and behind closed doors and windows Kenmore slept. The storm of the previous night had been followed by a cold wave, and upon Farwell's hearth a fire crackled cheerily. "And so, you see, I cannot go back to my father's house."
"In case you don't know it," he said, without preliminary or greeting, "I'll tell you that our dam went out with the flood. You didn't need to use dynamite this time." "Providence!" Casey suggested. Farwell's comment consisted of but one word, which, unless by contrast, is not usually associated with providential happenings. "Call it that if you like," he growled.
"Hello, Sheila!" the rider called. "Why, Casey, this is luck!" she exclaimed. Farwell scowled at the evident pleasure in her voice. "Light down. Better put your horse in the stable." "That you, McCrae?" said Dunne, peering at the glow of Farwell's cigar. "I want to see you about " "It's Mr. Farwell," Sheila interjected quickly. A pause. Casey's voice, smooth, polite, broke it.
"I'm not so sure," she said hesitatingly, "that there will be any medicine to take." Farwell's eyes opened wide as he stared at her. "What do you mean by that? Don't fool with me, Sheila, for Heaven's sake. It's too serious a matter." "Yes, it's serious," she agreed. She faced him frankly, the rich blood mounting beneath the tan of her cheeks. "What's the use of beating around the bush?
All that dancing and fiddle-scraping at Master Farwell's is not to my liking. The goings-on are evil-looking to my mind. The girl always was a parcel of whim-whams made up of odds and ends, as it was, of her fore-runners. What all the children of the Glenns might have been Priscilla is!" "So Jerry-Jo's fixed his bold eyes on the girl?" asked Mary McAdam. "It bodes no good for her.
"I'm just going to make him stay where he is." "Let me," said McHale, and fired as he spoke. Farwell's revolver answered. They emptied the guns in the darkness; but as one shot high by accident and the other low by design, no damage ensued. The camp, aroused by the shooting, buzzed like a hornet's nest. Lights appeared everywhere.
And being of the battle-axe type Farwell saw no reason to mince matters with Dunne, whom he looked upon as a leader of the alleged trouble makers, and therefore directly responsible for his, Farwell's, presence in that confounded desert. "No," he said, "York doesn't forget much. And he hears quite a lot, too.
If she were bent upon her course, if his hand could not rest upon the tiller of her untested craft when she put out to sea, what could he do for her? To whom turn? "Is there not one, Master Farwell, just one, out beyond the In-Place, who, for your sake, would help me at first until I learned the way?" The question chimed in with Farwell's thought.
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