The last garment had been folded and bestowed. The silver tissue shoes had found their place in the chest. The cloak, with its fur lining, had been laid on the top of the others. Then the commoner garments, that had their ordinary home in the chest, were replaced on the top of all, and the lid was re-closed.
It was as though Molly’s glory of yesterday was a thing repugnant to her; as though she were endeavouring to shut out the memory of it from her mind. As the lid of the chest closed, and the cover was re-set in its place, the girl stood for a moment before it with bosom heaving and a light of panic in her eyes.
The dawn had broadened towards full daylight when Molly at last turned away and passed out of the room.
Lightning moved up to the house engrossed in thought. That which he had witnessed of the parting at the storm doorway had troubled him. The girl’s subsequent flood of tears had shocked him out of all his confidence.
The earlier episode had been comprehensible enough. The disaster he had feared had happened. Molly had promised marriage. The man he felt he could never work for was to become the master of the Marton farm. For him, he knew, it meant the end of all things. And the thought that he would be driven to part from Molly froze his heart and left him groping helplessly.
It was Lightning’s way to drive straight to the heart of things. But he was not prepared for the scene he discovered in the living-room. The cook-stove had been lit. The breakfast had been set. And Molly was at work frying the pork, and browning the beans.
Molly glanced round as Lightning thrust the door open, and he caught a glimpse of a pair of forlorn eyes darkly ringed as a result of hours of tearful wakefulness. Instantly the man’s rougher mood melted. His desire to delve to the heart of things evaporated. A great wave of foolish sympathy set him yearning to say something, to do something, that would banish the look of trouble he beheld.
But inspiration failed him, and his greeting was a jarring complaint.
“Say, Molly, gal, I bin workin’ around here since you was knee high, an’ I ain’t known the man or woman that set light to that darn ol’ stove but me. It’s a measly bet I can’t set a lucifer to a bunch o’ kindlin’ for you the mornin’ after your party night. What’s got you, gal?” he went on, with a grin intended to help things. “Feelin’ restless? Your fine fixin’s got you worried they’d sort o’ quit you come mornin’? I sure feel bad sun-up wa’ant early enough to light your stove.”