“No,” said Judith, resenting nothing, “I never did aim to wed Blatch Turrentine, and I never will.”
The elder stood directly in her path, blocking the way and staring down at her miserably for a long minute.
“That’s what you always used to tell me,” he remarked finally with a heavy sigh. “Back in them days when you let me hope that I’d see you settin’ by my fireside with my children on your knees, you always talked thataway about Blatch—I reckon you talked thataway of me to him.”
Judith’s pale cheek slowly crimsoned. She looked upon the ground. “I’m mighty sorry,” she said slowly.
Elihu Drane’s faded eyes lighted with fresh fires. He caught the hand that hung by her side.
“Oh, Jude—do you mean it?” he cried. “Do you care? You don’t know how the chaps all love ye and want ye. That old woman I’ve got doin’ for ’em ain’t fittin’ to raise ’em. Everybody tells me I’ve got to marry and give ’em a mother, but I cain’t seem to find nobody but you. If you feel thataway—if you’ll——”
Judith drew her hand away with finality, but her eyes were full of pitying kindness. She knew now what she had done to this man. By the revealing lamp of her own suffering she read his. Back in the old days she had counted him only one more triumph in her maiden progress.
“No,” she said gravely, “I ain’t studyin’ about marryin’ anybody. I’m mighty sorry that I done thataway. I’m sorry, and ashamed; but I have to say no again, Elder Drane. There ain’t never goin’ to be no other answer.”
“Hit’s that feller Bonbright,” declared the elder sternly as he stood aside to let her pass. “Good Lord, why ain’t the man got sense enough to come back and claim his own!”