“Something has happened, Miss Harlan! What is it?”
She got up again and faced him, smiling, her eyes shining mistily through the moisture in them. She was almost on the verge of tears, and her voice was tremulous when she answered:
“Mr. Taylor, I—I have come to ask if you—still—if your offer about the Arrow is still open—if—I could stay here—myself and Martha; if I could accept the offer you made about giving me father’s share of the Arrow. For—for—I can’t go back East—to Westwood, and I won’t stay in the Huggins house a minute longer!”
“Sure!” he said, with a grim smile, aware of her profound emotion; aware, too, that something had gone terribly wrong with her—to make her accept what she had once considered charity—an offer made out of his regard for her father.
“But, look here,” he added. “What’s wrong? There’s something——”
“Plenty, Mr. Squint.”
This was Martha. She had been awake for some little time, sitting back with her eyes closed, listening. She was now sitting erect, her eyes shining with eagerness to tell all she knew of the night’s happenings.
“Plenty, Mr. Squint,” she repeated, paying no attention to Miss Harlan’s sharp, “Martha!” “That big rapscallion, Carrington, has been makin’ things mighty mis’able for Missy Harlan. He come to the house las’ night an’ bust the door down, tryin’ to git at missy, an’ she’s run away from him like a whitehead. Then, when he finds he can’t diskiver where I hide missy he run the hosses off an’ we have to walk heah. That’s all, Mr. Squint, ’ceptin’ that me an’ missy doan stay in that house no more—if we have to walk East—all the way!”
Miss Harlan saw a flash light Taylor’s eyes; saw the flash recede, to be replaced by a chilling glow. And his lips grew straight and stiff—two hard lines pressed firmly together. She saw his chest swell and noted the tenseness of his muscles as he stepped closer to her.
“Was your uncle there with you, Miss Harlan?”