"That will serve you until I come again," she said, extending her hand.
The woman clutched the money eagerly, counted it twice to be certain there was no mistake, then rose from her seat and went to an old bureau in a corner of the room. After fumbling in her pocket for a while, and pulling out a heterogeneous mass of things, a dingy red silk handkerchief among the rest, she produced a small key, unlocked one of the drawers, and put the gold carefully away in a buckskin bag; then she locked the bureau again, and returned to her seat.
"That is safe," she said, more complacently; the touch of the money had evidently mollified her feelings. "Now, let's talk about something else—about your plans, say."
"I can not answer your questions; every thing is dark yet—a few months will decide."
"Don't you get careless, you know."
"There is no fear; I am not a child."
"No; and you've learned by the hardest."
"Don't ever speak of the past; I can bury it now—I have buried it."
"Wal, it's a dead friend I guess you ain't sorry to be rid of."
Sybil looked white; her eyes had a strained, unnatural expression, and her hands clenched together with the old force and tightness.