King Vidor’s “Wild Oranges.” A Goldwyn Picture.
A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY.
“Nicholas was dreadfully upset, and hid in the pines for a day or more. He told me if I spoke of him it would happen, and if I left it would happen—to father. Then he came back. He said that you were—were in love with me, and that I must send you away. He added that you must go today, for he couldn’t stand waiting any more. He said that he wanted to be right, but that things were against him. This morning he got dreadful—if I fooled him he’d get you, and me, too, and then there was always father for something extra special. That, he warned me, would happen if I stayed away for more than an hour.” She rose, trembling violently. “Perhaps it’s been an hour now. I must go back.”
John Woolfolk thought rapidly; his face was grim. If he had brought a pistol from the ketch he would have shot Iscah Nicholas without hesitation. Unarmed, he was reluctant to precipitate a crisis with such serious possibilities. He could secure one from the Gar, but even that short lapse of time might prove fatal—to Millie or Lichfield Stope. Millie’s story was patently fact in every detail. He thought more rapidly still—desperately.
“I must go back,” she repeated, her words lost in a sudden blast of wind under the dilapidated roof.
He saw that she was right.
“Very well,” he acquiesced. “Tell him that you saw me, and that I promised to go tonight. Act quietly; say that you have been upset, but that you will give him an answer tomorrow. Then at eight o’clock—it will be dark early tonight—walk out to the wharf. That is all. But it must be done without any hesitation; you must be even cheerful, kinder to him.”
He was thinking: She must be out of the way when I meet Nicholas. She must not be subjected to the ordeal that will release her from the dread fast crushing her spirit.
She swayed, and he caught her, held her upright, circled in his steady arms.