He laughed satirically. “Ye talk ’bout pardon! I hain’t got no pardon. I ’low ye wimmin-folks hev got no feelin’ nor pride nuther. I wouldn’t hev no pardon off’n Gwinnan. I wouldn’t take a favior from him,—not ter save him from hell, nor me nuther. But I hev got no pardon.”
“Ye air foolin’ me, Reuben, ain’t ye?” she exclaimed, hopefully.
He shook his head.
She gazed gravely at him. “How’d ye git away?”
“Bruk an’ run.”
She stood still; her heart sank; her eyes filled with tears. “Oh,” she cried, with all the despair of a relinquished hope, “I couldn’t but b’lieve yestiddy, when Jacob Jessup kep’ a-lookin’ so secret an’ m’licious, ez thar war good news ez he wouldn’t lemme hear,—more ’n he told ’bout what Jedge Gwinnan said when he rid up ter the cabin, whilst we war all away ter the church-house ter the revival. An’ I b’lieved ’twar ez you-uns war pardoned. I hev drempt of it! I hev prayed fur it! I’d hev died fur it!”
“Look hyar, Lethe Sayles!” he exclaimed, tense and erect again. “That thar ain’t a true word ez ye air a-tellin’ me,—ez that thar man hev kem ter Wild-Cat Hollow!” His eyes blazed upon her.
She was deprecating and downcast. Her intuition warned her that it behooved her to be careful. She was too deliberate. He broke out vehemently:
“He hev! An’ ’twar ter see you-uns.”