“Here, as well as anywhere,” he said, moved by her strange fancy, by the hunger of her voice and face.
“Then it is because there is a curse on me––the curse of Swan’s money, of his evil ways!” She sprang up, stretching her long arms wildly. “I will pray no more, 186 no more!” she cried. “I will curse God, I will curse him as Job cursed him, and fling myself from the rocks and die!”
Mackenzie was on his feet beside her, his hand on her shoulder as if he would stay her mad intention.
“No, no!” he said, shocked by the boldness of her declaration. “Your troubles are hard enough to bear––don’t thicken them with talk like this.”
She looked at him blankly, as if she did not comprehend, as though her reason had spent itself in this rebellious outbreak against the unseen forces of her sad destiny.
“Where is your woman?” she asked.
“I haven’t any woman.”
“I thought she was your woman, but if she is not, Swan can have her. Swan can have her, then; I do not care now any more. Swan wants her, he speaks of her in the night. Maybe when he takes her he will set me free.”
Mrs. Carlson sat again near the lantern, curling her legs beneath her with the facility of a dog, due to long usage of them in that manner, Mackenzie believed, when chained to the wall in her lonely house among the trees. Mackenzie stood a little while watching her as she sat, chin in her hands, pensive and sad. Presently he sat near her.
“Where is Swan tonight?” he asked.