"Yo' go ahead, Buddy," advised Lem, "an' catch up with Belle-Ann—I'll be 'long directly."
Buddy's thin, colt-like legs struck a trot, and Lem followed slowly up the mountain side, deeply absorbed in thought and obviously disgruntled. Altogether, the whole untoward events of the night had conspired to cheat him out of his revenge. This was the strangest night he had ever known, the happenings of which seemingly, derided his own reality. A night divided into ecstasy and torture, and above the chaos of his soul, the voice of Belle-Ann ever rippled with the monotone and insistency of running water.
When finally Lem reached the cabin he found Belle-Ann huddled on the horse-block, her face pallid and distressed from the effects of the terrible, revolting scene she had witnessed in the church. Buddy sat beside her saying things, which she heard vaguely and to which she made distrait response.
Lem put his rifle and the lantern down and stood before her.
"I air sorry, Belle-Ann, thet yo'-all had t' see sich a sight," he said slowly. "He's daid."
She arose quickly to her feet and looked searchingly into his face.
"You—you—you didn't——"
"No, Belle-Ann—I didin't kill em. We'uns went back after yo'-all left an' he were up on th' altar daid."
"Oh—how awful—how terrible it all is! Oh, I wish it were morning—that I could ride away from heah! Even a day of this awful life is more than I can bear. Are you satisfied now, Lem?" she ended sadly.
"No, I hain't," he returned hotly. "I wus cheated out'n his blood. Pap an' maw wanted em t' die at my hands—they ded. Belle-Ann, air yo' 'lowin' t' go way in th' mornin' an' never cum back?" he finished, with a look of despair settling on his features.