“I haven’t my gun along, or I’d be glad to oblige you.”
“He deserves killing, the wretch!”
“On more accounts than one,” he replied, quietly.
So quietly and so gravely, in truth, that her gust of rage subsided before the low-spoken menace of the words. No quick anger was his but a steady and deadly purpose. Again she felt the hard-held force, the mystery of the man, as if flowing suddenly upward from subterranean channels. What wrong had he suffered, what undeserved torture at the hands of this man and others thus to freeze his soul?
But he immediately turned to her, asking, “Does that upset the broth?”
A wan smile greeted his words.
“I expect it will keep the cook busy, anyway,” she said.