"Madame, this is a very pleasant evening."
Mrs. Grinder noted the kindly tone, the handsome, haggard face, the air of abstraction. Quietly he smoked for a time, then again he flushed, arose excitedly, and stepped into the yard. There he began pacing angrily to and fro.
But again he sat down to his pipe, and again seemed composed. He cast his eyes toward the west, that West, the scene of his toils and triumphs.
"What a sweet evening it is!" He had seen that same sun silvering the northern rivers, gilding the peaks of the Rockies, and sinking into the Pacific. It all came over him now, like a soothing dream, calming the fevered soul and stilling its tumult.
The woman was preparing the usual feather-bed for her guest.
"I beg you, Madame, do not trouble yourself. Pernia, bring my bearskins and buffalo robe."
The skins and robe were spread on the floor and the woman went away to her kitchen. The house was a double log cabin with a covered way between. Such houses abound still in the Cumberland Mountains.
"I am afraid of that man," said the woman in the kitchen, putting her children in their beds. "Something is wrong. I cannot sleep."
The servants slept in the barn. Neely had not come. Night came down with its mysterious veil upon the frontier cabin.
But still that heavy pace was heard in the other cabin. Now and then a voice spoke rapidly and incoherently.