He bit off his words, her apparent helplessness shaming him to silence. Then the import of what he had said flashed over Tessibel and she swayed backward. This small break in that superb calm brought Waldstricker forward the step the girl had yielded.
"Are you going to tell me?" he demanded again.
"Nope," said Tess rigidly, "Air I to go with ye now, this minute?"
He inclined his head with a bitter nod. "Yes," he snarled. He strode to the door, and addressed the officer. "Come in! Come in! She's a hardened huzzy.... Serve the warrant on her."
Tessibel took the paper but dropped it to the floor without glancing at it. She didn't care what it contained, for minute by minute came the sweet assurance from up there among the nets that God had heard and would answer.
The officer was staring at her, askance. He remembered distinctly when she had climbed up the ivy on the county jail to see her father. Then she had been a child. Now she was a woman. Being a good-hearted man, he hated his task, and a moment later hated it worse than ever. She sent him one pleading, heart-rending glance, then dropped her lids.
"Ye couldn't let me stay till after March?" she whispered. "If ye only would—"
It had been an effort to say it; an effort to both inclination and voice. It was as if her throat were filled with ashes ... nor could she finish the appeal.
"You can't stay even one day," thrust in Waldstricker, "I told you long ago what to expect.... Get your things together."
Tess made no move to obey. She was waiting for an answer from out of the dry nets, even from far behind the snow clouds where the blue slept.