She was a strangely beautiful creature to be the wife of this brawny mountaineer. There was a softness in her voice in striking contrast to his own rough tones, and although the mountain accent was plainly observable, it was greatly modified. He, himself, ignorant and unsophisticated, full of the half-savage impulses and rude virtues of the region, was quite conscious of the incongruity, and regarded his wife with something of awe mingled with his undemonstrative but ardent passion. He sat thus looking at her now, in a kind of adoring wonder.
"Waal!" he exclaimed at last, "blest ef I kin see how I ever spunked up enough fur ter ax ye, anyhow! Ye see, Molly, I'd allers liked ye—allers; long afore ye ever thought o' goin' down to Richmon'."
The woman moved uneasily, and turned her eyes away from his eager face; but Sandy failed to notice this, and went on, with increasing ardor:
"After ye'd gone I missed ye powerful! I used ter go over the mounting ter ax after ye whenever I cud git away, an' when they tole me how ye war enjoyin' yerself down thar, a-arnin' heaps o' money an' livin' so fine, it mos' set me wild. I war allers expectin' ter hear ez how ye'd got merried, an' I kep' a-tellin' myself 'twa'n't no use; but the more I tole myself, the wuss I got. An' when you come home, Molly, a-lookin' so white an' mizzable like, an' everybody said ye'd die, it—why, it most killed me out, Molly, 'deed it did, I sw'ar!"
Sandy did not often speak of those days of his probation; but, finding Molly in a softened mood,—Molly, who had always been so cold and reticent, so full of moods and fancies,—he felt emboldened to proceed.
"Lord, Molly, I didn't hev no rest night nor day! Bob'll tell ye how I hung around, an' hung around; an' when ye got a little better an' come out, a-lookin' so white an' peakèd, I war all of a trimble. I don't know now how I ever up an' axed ye. I reckon I never would a-done it ef it hadn't been fur Bob. He put me up tew it. Sez Bob, 'Marm's afeard as Molly'll go back to Richmon' ag'in,' an' that war more'n I could stand; an' so I axed ye, Molly."
Sandy's face was not one adapted to the expression of tender emotion, but there was a perceptible mellowing of the irregular features and rough voice as he went on.
"I axed ye, Molly, and ye said 'Yes'; an' I ain't never hed no call to be sorry ez I axed ye, an' I hope you ain't, nuther—say, Molly?" and the great hand was laid tenderly on her arm.
"No, Sandy," said she, "I ain't had no call to be sorry. You've been good to me; a heap better'n I have been to you."