“For the love of mercy take what you need and pay it,” he said. “Then get a floor under your feet, and try, I beg of you, try to force yourself to have confidence in me, until I do something that gives you the least reason for distrusting me.”
She picked up the money and gave it a contemptuous whirl that landed it at his feet.
“What greater cause of distrust could I have by any possibility than just that?” she asked.
The Harvester arose hastily, and taking several steps, he stood with folded arms, his back turned. The Girl sat watching him with wide eyes, the dull blue plain in their dusky depths. When he did not speak, she grew restless. At last she slowly arose and circling him looked into his face. It was convulsed with a struggle in which love and patience fought for supremacy over honest anger. As he saw her so close, his lips drew apart, and his breath came deeply, but he did not speak. He merely stood and looked at her, and looked; and she gazed at him as if fascinated, but uncomprehending.
“Ruth!”
The call came roaring up the hill. The Girl shivered and became paler.
“Is that your uncle?” asked the Harvester.
She nodded.
“Will you come to-morrow for your drawing materials?”
“Yes.”