“Then why do you come knocking? Who are you, anyway?” he demanded, harshly, knowing perfectly well who she was.
“I am the postmistress at Nauvoo,” she faltered—“that is, I was—”
“Really,” he said, angrily; “your intelligence might teach you to go where you are more welcome.”
His brutality seemed to paralyze the girl. She looked at him as though attempting to comprehend his meaning. “Are you not Mr. Helm?” she asked, in a sweet, bewildered voice.
“Yes, I am,” he replied, shortly.
“I thought you were a gentleman,” she continued, in the same stunned voice.
“I’m not,” said Helm, bitterly. “I fancy you will agree with me, too. Good-night.”
He deliberately turned his back on her and sat down on the wooden steps of the porch; but his finely modelled ears were alert and listening, and when to his amazement he heard her open his gate again and re-enter, he swung around with eyes contracting wickedly.
She met his evil glance quite bravely, wincing when he invited her to leave the yard. But she came nearer, crossing the rank, soaking grass, and stood beside him where he was sitting.
“May I tell you something?” she asked, timidly.