"Say, Maud," he said into her ear, "some day--when the boy is well and off your hands--I'd just enjoy to see you with a child of your own in your arms."
She started away from the whispered words, started and quivered like a wild thing trapped. For a single instant her eyes met his in open, passionate revolt; then swiftly she passed him by.
Jake followed with his lips pursed to a whistle, and a certain hard glitter replacing the dream in his eyes.
CHAPTER XX
A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY
Someone was whistling in the stable-yard with elaborate turns and trills to the accompaniment of a horse's hoofs that danced upon the stones.
It was Christmas Day, and from the church half-way down the hill there came the gay peal of bells. The stable-doors were all closed, and the yard was in perfect order. There was no one about besides the solitary whistler on horseback; and he, it seemed, had no intention of prolonging his solitude, for he was heading his horse straight for the spotless white gate that led to Jake Bolton's dwelling.
He was a young man, with a swarthy face of undeniable ugliness that yet possessed a monkeyish fascination that was all its own. His eyes laughed out of it with a merry wickedness--odd eyes, one black, one grey, that gave a most fantastic expression to his whole countenance. They were not trustworthy eyes, but they were full of humour. He had a comedian's trick of working the brows above them so that his features were scarcely ever in repose.
He sat in the saddle as one completely at home there; but there was no grace about him. His limbs seemed to be fastened on with wires, like the limbs of a marionette.
Reaching the closed white gate, he stooped from the saddle, and with the end of his riding-switch lifted the catch. On the little finger of the hand he thus extended he wore a slender gold ring in which was set a single sapphire surrounded by diamonds.