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Updated: May 18, 2025
It was mounting into Clayton Rand's wagon. Then Dorcas went in where Newell was waiting to kiss her. "He's drove along," she said, from her trance of happiness. "'Lida's gone to ride with him." Already the name meant no more to them then the bubble they had chased. "Come, Dorcas, come," said her lover, in that new voice. "Come here to me."
He buckled on his revolvers, seized his gun, when a cry from the depths arrested him. He leaned over the ledge, and listened. Again the cry arose, and this time more distinctly. He held his breath: the blood settled around his heart in superstitious terror. It was the wailing voice of a woman. "Ruth, Ruth! for God's sake come and help me!" The blood flew back hotly to Rand's cheek.
If you meet any one who looks like me, and talks like me, call him 'Ruth, and tell him I'm waitin' for him yer." Miss Phemia, the last to go, standing on the verge of the declivity, here remarked, with a dangerous smile, that, if she met any one who bore that resemblance, she might be tempted to keep him with her, a playfulness that brought the ready color to Rand's cheek.
Your ambition enmeshed you then, as your passion blinds you now." Rand's voice darkened and fell. "Who gave you who gave you the right of inquisition? What has your soul or your way of thinking to do with mine? You are not my keeper. I would not take salvation at your hands by God, no! Why should the thought of you lie at the bottom of each day? It shall not lie at the bottom of this one!
He was pulling down his vest to cover the butt as he went up the walk and joined his friend at the front door. Cabot's combination library and gunroom was on the first floor. Like Rand's own, his collection was hung on racks over low bookcases on either side of the room. It was strictly a collector's collection, intensely specialized.
"Aw, g-g-go on, kiddie!" retorted Jim, a stout lad of about Rand's age, with a freckled face and a shock of aggressive red hair, mimicking Pepper, who, when excited, sometimes stuttered. "Aw, g-g-go on. Little boys shouldn't play in the road." "If you can't d-drive without getting all over the road," went on Pepper, "why d-don't you let somebody d-drive that knows how "
"If you want somebody to talk to, my sister Jacqueline is reading over there in the summer-house." The blood rushed to Rand's face. His heart beat so loud and fast that it stifled a voice within him. He did not even hear the voice. He rose at once, turned, and took the path that Deb's brown finger indicated. Had he been another man, had he been, perhaps, Ludwell Cary, he might not have gone.
The shamed blood rushed to Rand's face; and saying half aloud, "I'm not going to take your precious babe away from you," he turned in half-boyish pettishness away. Nevertheless he came back again shortly to the bedside, and gazed upon them both.
Neither of them mentioned the obvious corollary, that conviction and execution would be almost simultaneous. It must have been uppermost in Gladys's mind; she leaned over and put her hand on Rand's arm. "Jeff, would it help any if I stayed home, instead of going to church?" she asked. "I'm a pretty fair pistol-shot. Lane taught me.
Rand dismounted, with a gesture bidding the boy to await him, entered the broken gate, and, walking up the path between the marigolds, knocked upon the closed door. There was a sound within as of some one rising hastily, an exclamation, and Vinie opened the door. "I knew 'twas you! I just said to myself, 'That ith Mr. Rand's knock, and it was! Wait, thir, and I'll make the room light."
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