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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Shall we have so many windows?" he asked as Cyclona ordered window after window, according to the old yellow plan. "There must be no dark spot in all this house," decided Cyclona, and when it was finished there was not.
On the following day Cyclona sat in the low rocking chair, rocking the baby, singing to it, crooning a lullaby, a memory of her own baby days when some self-imposed mother, taking the place of her own, had crooned to her. "Sleep, baby, sleep, The big stars are the sheep. The little stars are the lambs, I guess, The moon is the shepherdess, Sleep, Baby, Sleep."
When the day's work was done he sat outside the dugout talking sometimes to himself, sometimes to Cyclona, telling of how when the harvest was over and gathered he would go back home.
At sight of the tear Seth was like a man who is all at once drunk with new wine. There is truth in the wine. There are times when it clears the brain for the moment and reveals things as they are. He looked at Cyclona with new eyes. It was as if he had never before seen her. She differed from Celia as the wild rose differs from the rose that blooms in hothouses, and yet how beautiful she was!
The kindly interest which most women, settled in life, feel for the uncertain destiny of every girl child bashfully budding into womanhood was absent. It is to be doubted if Celia possessed a kindly heart to begin with, added to which there was nothing of the self-conscious bud about Cyclona. She was ignorant of her beauty as a prairie rose.
"It is just as well," soothed Cyclona. "It doesn't matter. She never knew him." It seemed to Cyclona that she could see the lonely resting place of the child reflected in Seth's eyes, so firmly was his mind fixed upon it. "You ah right, Cyclona," he said by and by. "You ah right. It is just as well. It might grieve her, altho' it is as you say, she nevah knew him."
"Cyclona coming out of Nowhere, and he packed off out of England, both outcasts, both rich now and ready to live happy ever after, if Cyclona would only get rid of this fool notion of hers that she's only holdin' the riches in trust for Celia and Seth. "Have you heard the news?
Again Cyclona waked him from his day dream with a touch. He ran his fingers through his hair, staring at her. "Is that you, Charlie," he asked her. "Not Charlie," she answered. "Cyclona." "I beg yoah pahdon," he said. "Ve'y often now you seem to me to be Charlie. I don't know why." "Tell me more about the Princess," soothed Cyclona, "is she so beautiful?" "Beautiful," echoed Seth.
Then sheets of water, as if the skies had opened and emptied themselves, and a vivid flash of lightning revealing the wind's wet wings, its wild whirling fingers dripping. Cyclona saw it coming in that flash, a fiendish thing apparently alive, copper-colored, funnel-shaped, ghastly. She threw herself forward on the neck of her broncho, grasping his mane.
"Charlie," smiled Seth, and never once did Cyclona correct him when he called her Charlie, reasoning that perhaps the spirit of the child was near him, since there were those who believed that and it was comforting. "She is laik the flowahs, that beautiful one.
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