“And why he is here is—yours.”
“Exactly!” she flamed. “You are a soldier. Learn what you want to know from him. You are my cousin, but you are going beyond the rights of blood. I won’t stand it—I won’t stand it—from anybody.”
“I don’t understand you, Barbara—I don’t know you. That last time it was Grey, you—and now—” He paused and, in spite of herself, her eyes flashed toward the door. Erskine saw it, drew himself erect, bowed and strode straight out. Nor did the irony of the situation so much as cross his mind—that he should be turned from his own home by the woman he loved and to whom he had given that home. Nor did he look back—else he might have seen her sink, sobbing, to the floor.
When he turned the corner of the house old Mammy and Ephraim were waiting for him at the kitchen door.
“Get Firefly, Ephraim!” he said sharply.
“Yassuh!”
At the first sight of his face Mammy had caught her hands together at her breast.
“You ain’t gwine, Marse Erskine,” she said tremulously. “You ain’t gwine away?”
“Yes, Mammy—I must.”