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Updated: June 21, 2025
One white hand plays thoughtfully with a heavy flaxen moustache; yet, once he starts, and for an instant the languid lids raise themselves; there is a keen, intent look upon the face as he listens for something. Then he leans back in his chair, fills his glass from the silver flask in his bag, and resumes his old posture. Presently the door opens noiselessly. It is Lyndall, followed by Doss.
She twirled a massive ring upon her forefinger a ring more suitable for the hand of a man, and noticeable in design a diamond cross let into gold, with the initials "R.R." below it. "Ah, Lyndall," Em cried, "perhaps you are engaged yourself that is why you smile. Yes; I am sure you are. Look at this ring!" Lyndall drew the hand quickly from her.
"I wish you would go and ask Lyndall to dance with you," she said; "she must be so tired; she has sat still the whole evening." "I have asked her three times," replied her lover shortly. "I'm not going to be her dog, and creep to her feet, just to give her the pleasure of kicking me not for you, Em, nor for anybody else."
Lyndall wiped a drop of blood off the lip she had bitten. "I am going to sleep," she said. "If you like to sit there and howl till the morning, do. Perhaps you will find that it helps; I never heard that howling helped any one." Long after, when Em herself had gone to bed and was almost asleep, Lyndall came and stood at her bedside.
It would be so nice! Then Em fell to seeing pictures. Lyndall should live with them till she herself got married some day. Every day when Gregory came home, tired from his work, he would look about and say, "Where is my wife? Has no one seen my wife? Wife, some coffee!" and she would give him some.
But we will be gone soon, and only the stones will lie on here, looking at everything like they look now. I know that it is I who am thinking," the fellow added slowly, "but it seems as though it were they who are talking. Has it never seemed so to you, Lyndall?" "No, it never seems so to me," she answered.
The little room, kept carefully closed in Tant Sannie's time, was well lighted by a paraffin lamp; books and work lay strewn about it, and it wore a bright, habitable aspect. Beside the lamp at the table in the corner sat Lyndall, the open letters and papers of the day's post lying scattered before her, while she perused the columns of a newspaper.
Clambering down, she took from the table a small one-bladed penknife, with which she began to peck at the hard wood of the shutter. "What are you doing now?" asked Em, who had ceased crying in her wonder, and had drawn near. "Trying to make a hole," was the short reply. "Do you think you will be able to?" "No; but I am trying." In an agony of suspense Em waited. For ten minutes Lyndall pecked.
She continued the study of her book. "Miss Lyndall," he said at last, "I don't know why it is you never talk to me." "We had a long conversation yesterday," she said without looking up. "Yes; but you ask me questions about sheep and oxen. I don't call that talking. You used to talk to Waldo, now," he said, in an aggrieved tone of voice.
Just then Em looked out again at the back window and saw them coming. She cried bitterly all the while she sorted the skins. But that night when Lyndall had blown her candle out, and half turned round to sleep, the door of Em's bedroom opened. "I want to say good night to you, Lyndall," she said, coming to the bedside and kneeling down. "I thought you were asleep," Lyndall replied.
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