“And your folks waiting for you,” said he.
“Oh, I'll pay my visit later,” said Molly, putting the rug a trifle straighter.
“May I ask one thing?” pleaded the Virginian, and at the gentleness of his voice her face grew rosy, and she fixed her eyes on him with a sort of dread.
“Anything that I can answer,” said she.
“Oh, yes. Did I tell yu' to quit me, and did yu' load up my gun and stay? Was that a real business? I have been mixed up in my haid.”
“That was real,” said Molly. “What else was there to do?”
“Just nothing—for such as you!” he exclaimed. “My haid has been mighty crazy; and that little grandmother of yours yondeh, she—but I can't just quite catch a-hold of these things”—he passed a hand over his forehead—“so many—or else one right along—well, it's all foolishness!” he concluded, with something almost savage in his tone. And after she had gone from the cabin he lay very still, looking at the miniature on the wall.
He was in another sort of mood the next time, cribbage not interesting him in the least. “Your folks will be wondering about you,” said he.
“I don't think they will mind which month I go to them,” said Molly. “Especially when they know the reason.”
“Don't let me keep you, ma'am,” said he. Molly stared at him; but he pursued, with the same edge lurking in his slow words: “Though I'll never forget. How could I forget any of all you have done—and been? If there had been none of this, why, I had enough to remember! But please don't stay, ma'am. We'll say I had a claim when yu' found me pretty well dead, but I'm gettin' well, yu' see—right smart, too!”