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Updated: June 23, 2025
Curiously enough, while she changed her clothes, her thoughts a jumble of present things she disliked and the unknown that she would have to face alone in Vancouver, she found her mind turning on Jack Fyfe. During his three weeks' stay, they had progressed less in the direction of acquaintances than she and Paul Abbey had done in two meetings.
For all she knew indeed, by all she had been told Jack Fyfe was tarred with the same stick as her brother, but she had no thought of resisting him, no feeling of repulsion. "Will you marry me, Stella?" he asked evenly. "I can free you from this sort of thing forever." "How can I?" she returned. "I don't want to marry anybody. I don't love you. I'm not even sure I like you.
Fyfe leaned toward her, staring fixedly into her eyes eyes that were bright with unshed tears. "And I was holding the devil in me down back there, because I didn't want to horrify you with anything like brutality," he went on thoughtfully. "You think I grinned and made a monkey of him because it pleased me to do that?
An' you'll never come so close bein' a widow again, Mrs. Fyfe, an' not be. That bullet was meant for Jack, I figure. He was sittin' down. Billy was standin' right behind him watchin' the logs go through. Whoever he was, he shot high, that's all. There, mother, don't cry. That don't help none. What's done's done." Stella turned and walked up to the house, stunned.
Stella saw that it was the skipper of the Panther, a big and burly Dane. He raised the lantern a little. The dim light on his face showed it bruised and swollen. Fyfe grunted. "Our boom is hung up," he said plaintively. "They've blocked the river. I got licked for arguin' the point." "How's it blocked?" Fyfe asked. "Two swifters uh logs strung across the channel. They're drivin' piles in front.
That's how the foundation came there." "It's a wonder it didn't grow up wild," Stella mused. "How long ago was that?" "About five years," Fyfe said. "I kept the grass trimmed. It didn't seem right to let the brush overrun it after the poor devil put that labor of love on it. It always seemed to me that it should be kept smooth and green, and that there should be a big, roomy bungalow there.
"No a bit, no a bit," cried I; and Mr Jaddua Fyfe gave me an approving gloom, while Mr Warner quietly continued, "I then urged many things, hoping that the Lord would incline his Highness' heart to espouse His interest in Scotland, and befriend the persecuted presbyterians. To which the Prince replied "
I've always wanted that so much that I'll never dare trust my instincts about it again. I wonder why people like me exist to go blundering about in the world, playing havoc with themselves and everybody else?" Before she reached home, that self-sacrificing mood had vanished in the face of sundry twinges of pride. Jack Fyfe hadn't asked her to come back; he never would ask her to come back.
"Just a hunch," Fyfe smiled. "If you did, he'd have beaten me to the rescue long ago if he were the sort of man you could care for." "No," she admitted. "There isn't any other man, but there might be. Think how terrible it would be if it happened afterward." Fyfe shrugged his shoulders. "Sufficient unto the day," he said. "There is no string on either of us just now. We start even.
She did not hear Jack Fyfe come in. She did not dream he was there, until she felt his hand gently on her shoulder and looked up. And so deep was her despondency, so keen the unassuaged craving for some human sympathy, some measure of understanding, that she made no effort to remove his hand.
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