Many women had had a part in Reivers’ life—far too many. None of them had held his interests longer than for a few months; none of them had he failed to tame and break. And none of them had reached below the hard husk of him and touched the better man as Hattie MacGregor did at this moment. His past experiences, his past attitude toward women, his past manner of life, flashed through his mind, each picture bringing with it a stab of remorse.
Remorse! The Snow Burner remorseful! He laughed his old laugh of contempt and defiance of all the world, but, though he refused to acknowledge it to himself, the old, invincible, self-assured ring was not in it. This girl was not to him what other women had been, and he saw that he could not tame her as he had tamed them.
Strange thoughts rose in his mind. He wished that the past had been different. He actually felt unworthy. Well, the past was past. It had died with him in the river. He was beginning a new life, a new name, a new man. Why couldn’t he? He drove the weak thoughts away. What nonsense! He—Hell-Camp Reivers—getting soft over a woman? Pooh!
“I said I could feed myself,” he snarled. “Give me that bowl. I don’t want you around.”
For reply she dipped the spoon into the food and held it ready.
“Lie down quietly, please,” she said coldly. “This is no time for keeping up your play of being a big man.”
“Give me that bowl,” he commanded.
Her big kinsman came lurching in from the other room of the cabin.
“Aye, lass?” said he.