Suddenly Vashti bethought herself that an extra rivet was never amiss when one wanted bonds to hold, so with a sigh as of timorous yielding, she gave him her lips again in the shadow of the porch, and left him with a glory of happiness bedimming his mental vision.
The house was dim-lit and silent. After the labours of threshing-day everyone was worn out. Lights glimmered in the bedrooms, but the living rooms were dark.
Sidney paced up and down the little garden path for long, feeling “caught up to heaven, yet strangely knit to earth.”
Vashti sought her room, and pulling up the blind looked out where Mullein meadow lay.
“A holy place!” she said to herself. “I wish I could pile the fire to burn all three of them. ‘A tabernacle,’ he said; I wish I might build me an altar there and slay them on it! I don’t think even an angel would stay my hand. ‘A sacrament’; I wish I had the filling of their cups, wormwood should they drink and the waters of Marah down to the very dregs—all three!”
Her nostrils dilated like a brute’s upon traces of the prey. In the breast of such a woman love denied turns to gall. She paced up and down, up and down—her rage lent expression in grotesque gestures and evil words, words which with Vashti Lansing’s teaching and training she was superbly brave to use. It grew very late; her eyes were almost wild. She took the guttering candle in one hand and crept along the passage to Mabella’s room. She opened the door and went in. Mabella lay asleep, her candid face budding from the prim little frill like a flower from its calyx. Vashti bent above her a haggard and violent face distorted by passion. Her eyes blazed; her lips drawn tensely back showed the strong white teeth. She leaned over the sleeper, her strong fingers closing and unclosing; a long tress of her hair fell across her shoulder suddenly and touched the dreamer’s cheek—Mabella stirred, raised her hand half way to her cheek, murmured with a little happy smile—“Lanty—Lan—” her voice died away; her soft regular breathing continued unbroken. At the sound of that name uttered thus a dreadful purpose lighted Vashti’s eyes. The fingers of her strong hand opened wide and advanced themselves toward the white throat which pulsed upon the pillow; at that moment the guttering candle fell over. Its burning wick and melted grease struck the hand which held it. Vashti instinctively uttered a smothered cry and jerked her hand; the light went out. Mabella stirred; Vashti sped to her room and got the door closed just as Temperance came to her door and said:
“Did anyone call?”
There was no response.
“Are you all right, Mabella?” she said, going across the hall to Mabella’s door.