CHAPTER XVIII. TO THE NEW GOD
Jim closed the door of the little shed-room with a bang, and stood listening a moment to the sobs inside.
“`UNTIL DEATH DO US PART,' Kiddo!” he laughed grimly.
He turned back into the room and saw Nance standing at the opposite entrance between the calico curtains, an old, battered, flickering lantern in her hand. A white wool shawl was thrown over the gray head and fell in long, filmy waves about her thin figure. Her deep-sunken eyes were exaggerated in the dim light of lantern and candle. She smiled wanly.
He stopped short at the apparition; a queer shiver of superstitious fear shook him. The white form of Death suddenly and noiselessly appearing from the darkness could not have been more uncanny. He had wondered vaguely while the quarrel with his wife was progressing, what had become of his mother. As the fight had reached its height, he had forgotten her.
She looked at him, blinking her eyes and trying to smile.
“Where the devil have you been, old gal?” he asked nervously.
“Nowhere,” she answered evasively.
“You've been mighty quiet on the trip anyhow. I see you've brought something back from nowhere.”