CHAPTER II.
Mary spent many weary hours trying to settle in her own mind what course to pursue, whilst Roger was confined to his bed, cursing the blisters which prevented him from walking, cursing Mary, her grandfather, and all her ancestors in the same breath. She felt nothing but disgust toward the man whom she had promised to love, honor and obey. What was there in such a man to honor? He had told her in horrible language that the first use which he should make of his feet would be to go on a protracted spree, and she would see no more of him for a month. He added with an oath “that he knew better than to come back for a second dose of mustard.”
She had written several letters to her grandfather, asking his advice as to what she had better do, but as yet she had received no reply. By his wise decision she would abide, feeling sure that he would point out the right way. She had not changed in her general bearing toward Roger. She waited on his every whim with wifely solicitude, but without the endearing words or loving caresses, which she would have bestowed one week ago. He was still her husband, and would remain so until death claimed either. She could not forget that. She owed him a certain amount of obedience, further than that he could not force her to do his will.
“Why don’t you talk once in a while, or tell me a good story?” he said to her one day. “You are like a death’s head at a feast, and about as cheerful as one would be, I should judge.”
“I have nothing to talk about,” she answered, wearily.
“Then invent something. If Bella were only here now, she’d make things lively for me. Not a dull hour in the day. She can dance, she can sing, she can do anything.”
Mary compressed her lips for a moment, and then said calmly:
“Then you intend to keep that slave girl?”
“Ain’t at all likely that I shall part with her, Mrs. Willing. She is too valuable. She’s only twenty-six. Look at the family she’s likely to raise. Every pickaninny will be worth a hundred to five. Part with Bella? Well, I reckon not.”
Mary shuddered. To hear her husband talk so coldbloodedly of traffic in human souls, made her heart sick. Was he devoid of all human feeling? She would try him and see.