Chapter Twelve.
A Combat in a Quarry.
The man and woman left behind, as they stood vis-à-vis, presented a striking appearance. Such a pair in juxtaposition were a sight not often given to the eye. He some inches the taller—though well matched as regarded the distinction of the sexes; but both of towering stature, with air so commanding that one, who could have seen them there and then, would not have given a thought to the coarseness of their apparel, or, if so, instantly forgetting it. Looking at their faces, in their eyes as they met in mutual gaze, he would have noticed something of a nature to interest more than any quality or fashion of dress—the light of love. For they loved one another warmly, and, perhaps, as purely and tenderly, as if their hearts had been beating under robes of silk.
No words of love passed between them now. If they intended speaking such, they held them in reserve till matters more pressing should be disposed of.
Upon these the man entered at once, asking,—
“Heerd you anythin’ ’bout me, Win?”
“Yes, Rob.”
“What?”