He said gently, “I think a lot of you, Ruth.”
She shook her head, backing away from him; and he heard the angry note creep back into her voice. “You mustn’t, ever,” she told him. “Oh, can’t you understand?”
Some hot strain in the man came to the surface; he cried with an eloquence that was strange on his slow lips, “I love you. That’s all I understand. I always will. You’ve got to know that too. You——”
She said, “Hush! I won’t listen. You—you’re your father over. He’s not content but he master everyone and every thing; master everyone about him. Break them. Master his beasts and his wife. You’re his own son. You’re an Evered.” Her hands were tightening into fists at her side. “Oh, you would want to boss me the way he—— I won’t, I won’t! You shan’t—shan’t ever do it.”
“I’ll be kind to you,” he said.
There was a softer note in her voice. “John, John,” she told him. “I’m sorry. I did love you. I tried to shut my eyes. I tried to pretend that Mary was happy with him. You’re like him. I thought I’d be happy with you. She told me one day how he used be. It frightened me, because he was like you. But I did love you, John. Till Mary died. Then I knew. He’d killed her. He made her want to die. And he had driven that great bull into a killing thing—by the way he treated it.
“Oh, I’ve seen your father clear, John. I know what he is. You’re like him. I couldn’t ever love you.”
He said in a hot quick tone—because she was very lovely—that she would love him, must, some day; and she shook her head.
“Don’t you see?” she told him. “You’re trying already to make me do what you want. Oh, John, can’t you Evereds see any living thing without crushing it? Mr. Darrin——” She caught herself, went on. “See how different he is. He goes into the swamp, and he has to be a thousand times more careful, more crafty than you when you hunt. But you come home with a bloody ugly thing across your shoulders; and he comes with a lovely picture, that will always be beautiful, and that so many people will see. He outwits the animals; he proves himself against them. But he doesn’t kill them to do it, John. You—your father—— Oh, can’t you ever see?”
His thoughts were not quick enough to cope with her; but he said awkwardly, “I’m not—always killing things. I’ve left many a trout go that I might have killed. And deer too.”