“Then I won’t be needed—after harvest,” he said, with a curious dullness.
Molly turned back on the instant. All the woe had passed out of her eyes. She stood up, tall and very pretty in her white waist and homely cloth skirt, and a gleam of hope reacted in Lightning’s eyes.
“Lightning!”
Molly paused on her exclamation. Then:
“Lightning, you sure won’t quit me, because—because of Andy?” she cried. “Oh, you—you just couldn’t! You wouldn’t! Why? Why? I’ll need you more than ever. I shall. I could never do without you. You’ve been everything to me. You’ve—you’ve been father to me ever since—ever since father was killed. Want you? Oh, you don’t know the thing you’re saying. I know. You just hate Andy. And—and you want to quit me because of him. If you could only know the thing he is to me you wouldn’t feel that way. You surely wouldn’t. Say you won’t quit me. Say you’ll stop right along when Andy comes, just the same as—as now. Say that, Lightning. You must say it. You’ll—you’ll set me crazy if you don’t.”
Lightning’s harsh voice jarred the silence of the room.
“Then he’s comin’ right here! That feller!” he cried. “He’s comin’ along to own this pore darn farm your dead father built right up fer—you! He’s goin’ to claim it all! He’s goin’ to claim—you!”
The old man’s voice had risen almost to a shout. But with his final exclamation he seemed to realise whither his fury was driving him. And he stood silent, with his thin nostrils dilating, and with grim lips tight pressed.
Molly stared at him. Then, slowly, she raised her hands in mute but infinite appeal. There were no words, no angry retort, no argument. Lightning capitulated. He inclined his head in surrender, and the hate passed out of his eyes.
“Fergit it, Molly, gal. I’m crazy mad, sure,” he said.