Once more Bull faced a stir in the darkness. “I’ve led a hard, rough, bad life. No decent woman would ever want me.”
Now he saw the dim whiteness of her face turning to him. Her quiet voice took up the argument. “It’s a thin, pinched nature that’s always good. A big, strong one is liable to be led astray by its own force before wisdom comes to teach and chasten. In the long run I don’t know but that it gains by it in charity and loving-kindness. Wickedness of the flesh doesn’t count so much as wickedness of the heart; the inward vileness that rots and corrupts; and I’ve seen as much of that in the churches as among downright sinners.” She concluded with the very words that Gordon had used with Lee. “It isn’t what you were, but what you are that counts.”
From a second warm silence issued Bull’s vibrant rumble. “You think a man that has lived hard has a right to speak, to a good woman—providing he’s put it all behind him?”
Low, but confident and firm, her answer thrilled through the gloaming. “I do, and—she’d love to help him.”
Almost without his volition, Bull’s huge paw stole out. He half hoped she wouldn’t see it. He had begun to withdraw it when, like a dim white dove, her hand came fluttering and nested in his.
Every life has its golden hour. That was Bull’s, and, like a pearl shining in the mire, it stood out from the blackness of his past life. Though neither spoke, the peace and quiet, surety of perfect understanding, settled upon them. When, presently, Betty resumed her chatter, they listened or joined in. After she fell asleep they relapsed again into happy silence; just sat like a shy boy and girl, hand in hand, till she rose and carried the child off to her bed.
To meet her, next morning, was to Bull something of an ordeal, but her quiet smile restored at once the perfect understanding. Her sense of proprietorship showed in the way she fussed over his coffee and eggs, berated him for his lack of appetite. Her final inspection before he left could not have been outdone in severity by Lee herself. But nothing was said. She knew that he would speak in his own good time.
Except that her hand clung a little in parting, it differed little from their usual. “I shall look for you when you return.” Her call after him reiterated ownership.
His answer confirmed it. “I shall come here, ma’am, straight from the station.”
Indeed, the real parting came when, reining in at fifty yards, he looked back over his shoulder. With both hands on Betty’s shoulders, slightly dejected, yet with her honest, level gaze sending out trust and hope, she stood watching him go, as the race of wives and mothers have stood throughout the generations. And just as, throughout time, the sight of a woman’s trust and child’s faith have urged real men on to big deeds, so the sight of them set the ex-rustler’s heart swelling within him. As, with a last wave of the hand, he turned again and rode on, the spirit within him equaled in love and reverence that of an ancient knight-errant starting out in pursuit of the Holy Grail.