“With that she gave me a look like a little fawn that has smelled the wolf circling ‘round it, but she will not answer. ‘He can’t be what you say he is,’ she says, trembling. ‘Lass,’ says I, ‘a week ago you would never have believed it possible that you’d ever wish aught to do with him. Now you walk with him and talk with him, and smile when he does.’ And I told her of Tilly.
“‘It’s not so,’ says she. ‘It can’t be so. Mr. Reivers is a gentleman, not a brute. He’s too strong and fine,’ says she, ‘for such conduct.’ And the bandage being done, I was dismissed with a toss of the head. Aye, aye, lad; but ’twas fine to have her little fingers sewing away around my old hand. Yon’s a fine, sweet lass; but I fear me Reivers has set his will to win her.”
Toppy made no reply. Campbell’s words aroused only one emotion in him—a fresh flare of anger against Reivers. For it was Reivers, and his strength and dominance, that was responsible. Toppy already was sorry for the swift judgment that he had passed on the girl on Sunday, and for the rudeness which, in his anger, he had displayed toward her. He knew now the power that lay in Reivers’ will, the calm, compelling fire that lurked in his eyes.
Men quailed before those eyes and did their bidding. And a girl, a little girl who must naturally feel grateful toward him for her position, could hardly be expected to resist the Snow-Burner’s undeniable fascinations. Why should she? Reivers was everything that women were drawn to in men—kinglike in his power of mind and body, striking in appearance, successful in whatever he sought to do.
It was inevitable that the girl should fall under his spell, but the thought of it sent a chill up Toppy’s spine as from the thought of something monstrous. He raged inwardly as he remembered how clearly the girl had let him see his own insignificance in her estimation compared with Reivers. She had refused to believe Campbell; Toppy knew that she would refuse to listen to him if he tried to warn her against Reivers.
The fashion in which he slammed the supper-dishes on the table brought a protest from Scotty.
“Dinna be so strong with the dishes, lad; they’re not iron,” said he.
“You ‘tend to your cooking,” growled Toppy. “I’ll set this table.”
Campbell paused with a spoon in midair and gaped at him in astonishment. He opened his mouth to speak, but the black scowl on Toppy’s brow checked his tongue. Silently he turned to his cooking. He had seen that he was no longer boss in the room behind the shop.
After supper Campbell brought forth a deck of cards and began to play solitaire. Toppy threw himself upon his bunk and lay in the darkness with his troublesome thoughts. An unmistakable step outside the door brought him to his feet, for he had an instinctive dislike to meeting Reivers save face to face and standing up. Reivers came in without speaking and shut the door behind him. He stood with his hand on the knob and looked over at Toppy and shook his head.