“In the cabins, honey, if you like,” the man answered patiently. “But he’ll not be safe out of our sight.”
She flared up. She poured out her anger upon him. “Safe!” she cried. “And what of you? Where will you be safe? And what is it to me if he be not safe? Don’t do it, father, don’t,” she continued, her voice sinking to a note of entreaty. “Don’t bring him here! It will end ill! You will see, it will end ill! Let him go to Barter’s.”
“We’ve been to Barter’s—”
“And he won’t take him! No! he’s more sense, though the risk to him is small. But you, think how the day has gone, and left you safe and well! And now, now at the end, you will spoil all!”
“Let be, Con,” the man struck in, speaking with decision. “He must come in. There’s nothing else for it. We’re not Cherokees, nor savages. There’s nothing else that can be done. You must put up with it, and—”
In a twinkling she was at the foot of the steps and at my rein—a girl, young, slender, dark and fiercely excited. “If you are a man,” she cried, seizing my arm, “if you are a gentleman, you’ll not come here! Do you hear, sir! There are reasons, a thousand reasons why we cannot take you in. And more—”
On that word she stopped. A change came over her face as she looked into mine. The only answer I could give her—she had gripped my wounded arm and I could bear no more—was to faint away. As the man had said, I was in sore need of a sup of Kentucky whisky.
CHAPTER III
MADAM CONSTANTIA
I see how she doth wry,
When I begin to moan;