“Wint, for God’s sake.... You heard what she said.”
Wint hardly knew himself; he was, suddenly and surprisingly, very calm, and happy with an anguished happiness of renunciation. The old stubborn, prideful Wint would have denied, have fought, have sworn. But Wint looked at Hetty; he was terribly sorry for her. He surrendered himself to a great and splendid magnanimity.
“Yes,” he told Routt. “I heard.”
“But it’s a lie!”
Wint got up slowly, looked around the room, studied them all; and he smiled. “Hetty would not lie about me,” he said. “She and I have always been friends. We are going to be married, right away.”
He held them a moment more with his steady gaze; they were frozen, every man. And then he looked at Hetty, and saw her eyes widen pitifully, and saw her face twist with anguish. And he smiled reassuringly, and he said: “It’s all right, Hetty. Truly. Don’t be afraid.”
While they were still motionless, he turned and went quietly into the hall. Muldoon had been dozing under his chair; the dog scrambled up now and followed him. Wint got his hat and went out of the house, Muldoon upon his heels.
In the room he had left, every man was very still. Only poor Hetty crumpled slowly in her chair; and she dropped her head in her arms upon the table and began to cry, with great, gasping sobs. And she whispered to herself, so harshly that they all could hear:
“My God! My God! Oh, my God!”
END OF BOOK V