CHAPTER XXIV
ROSEBUD’S FORTUNE
Something of the old spirit seemed to have gone out of Rosebud when Seth rode back to her. A strange fascination held her; and now, as he came up, she had no thought of questioning him, no desire. She was ready to obey. She watched the emaciated figure as it drew near with eyes that told a story which only he could have misinterpreted. She was ready for a scolding, a scolding which she felt she merited. But Seth made no attempt to blame her. And this very fact made her wish that he would.
“Say, Rosie, gal, I guess we’ll be gettin’ back,” he said, in a manner which suggested that they had been out together merely, and that it was time for returning.
“Yes, Seth.”
There was unusual humility in the reply. It may have been that the girl remembered that scene in the woods so many months ago. Perhaps the scene she had just witnessed had told her something that no explanations could have made so clear. Seth was always the dominating factor in their intercourse, but this outward submission was quite foreign to the girl. 255
They rode off together, the man’s horse leading slightly. Neither spoke for a while, but Rosebud noticed that almost imperceptibly they had branched off and were heading for the bridge by unfrequented by-paths which frequently demanded their riding in Indian-file.
Seth displayed no haste and no inclination to talk, and the silence soon began to jar on the girl. It was one thing for her to give ready obedience, but to be led like some culprit marching to execution was something which roused her out of her docility. At the first opportunity she ranged her horse alongside her companion’s and asserted her presence.
“I want you to answer me a question, Seth,” she said quietly. “How did you get wounded?”