The appeal of the girl’s tone drove the hot blood to Lightning’s head, and his hands rested on those twin friends of his early days that lolled heavily at his waist. But he remained unmoving, waiting—waiting in desperate suspense for the man’s reply.
He heard McFardell’s voice, but not his words. They were low and persuasive, and they went on for some time.
Then the girl spoke again, and it seemed to Lightning that something akin to terror rang in her words.
“Before God?” she cried, and it sounded like an echo of that which McFardell had said. “Before summer’s out? Oh, Andy! Sure? Sure?”
The man’s low tones replied. And after that Molly’s voice, full of excited happiness, rang out, so that no word was lost in the silence of the night.
“Yes, yes,” she cried. “In Hartspool. At the Catholic church. Say it shall be the Catholic church. I was raised to father’s religion. Oh, Andy!”
Lightning raised a hand, and his lean fingers raked their way through his grey hair as Molly’s final exclamation died out. The snatch of talk he had been forced to listen to told him the simple truth. The thing he dreaded most in the world was to happen. There was only one interpretation possible to the thing he had heard—marriage. McFardell was to marry Molly before summer was out. Molly was to belong to that man before summer was out. Molly! A paroxysm of voiceless hate consumed him, and he moved a step forward.
But he got no farther.
“So long, little girl,” he heard McFardell say. “It’s just too bad.” He laughed. “Why need I go? You’re mine. Just all mine. We’re—— All right, little Molly. I’ll beat it. So long.”
Lightning drew a deep breath. McFardell was going. He saw the man approach his team and pass around it. Then he saw him turn back to Molly, who had emerged from her doorway. The next moment Lightning saw him bend over her up-turned face. Then McFardell climbed into the wagon and the horses moved off.