"But here be you," cried Tenney, as if his mind, unsatisfied, went back to one flaw after another in Raven's argument. "You see me go by to my work, an' you come up here to talk over my folks behind my back an' tole 'em off to run away with you."
"I have explained all that once," said Raven. "You'll have to take it or leave it."
At that instant Tira stepped forward. She gave a little cry.
"You've hurt your foot!"
Raven's glance followed hers to the ground and he saw a red stain creeping from Tenney's boot into the snow. Tenney also glanced at it indifferently. It was true that, although the cold was growing anguish to a numbing wound, he was hardly aware of it as a pain that could be remedied. This was only one misery the more.
"Course I've hurt my foot," he said savagely. "What d'ye s'pose I come home for, this time o' day?"
"Why," said Tira, in an innocent good faith, "I s'posed you come back to spy on me."
That did take hold of him. He looked at her in an almost childish reproach. Now he put the foot to the ground—he had been, though unconsciously, easing it—but at the first step winced and his face whitened.
"God A'mighty!" Raven heard him mutter, and was glad. He seemed more of a man invoking God in his pain than in waving deity like a portent before unbelievers.
Tira had gone to him.