Birt’s self-control gave way abruptly. He rose in great agitation, and started toward the door. Then he paused, and broke forth with passionate incoherence, telling amidst sobs and tears the story of the woodland’s munificence to him, and how he had flung the gift away.
In recounting the hopes that had deluded him, the fears that had gnawed, and the despair in which they were at last merged, he did not notice, for a time, her look as she still knelt motionless before the embers on the hearth.
He faltered, and grew silent; then stared dumbly at her.
She seemed as one petrified. Her face had blanched; its lines were as sharp and distinct as if graven in stone; only her eyes spoke, an eloquent anguish. Her faculties were numbed for a moment. But presently there was a quiver in her chin, and her voice rang out.
And yet did she understand? did she realize the loss of the mine? For it was not this that she lamented
“Birt Dicey!” she cried in an appalled tone. “Did ye hide it from yer
mother
- an’ tell
Nate Griggs
?”