Then Izz Huett broke down. She had walked more than a dozen miles the previous evening, had gone to bed at midnight, and had risen again at five o’clock. Marian alone, thanks to her bottle of liquor and her stoutness of build, stood the strain upon back and arms without suffering. Tess urged Izz to leave off, agreeing, as she felt better, to finish the day without her, and make equal division of the number of sheaves.
Izz accepted the offer gratefully, and disappeared through the great door into the snowy track to her lodging. Marian, as was the case every afternoon at this time on account of the bottle, began to feel in a romantic vein.
“I should not have thought it of him—never!” she said in a dreamy tone. “And I loved him so! I didn’t mind his having you. But this about Izz is too bad!”
Tess, in her start at the words, narrowly missed cutting off a finger with the bill-hook.
“Is it about my husband?” she stammered.
“Well, yes. Izz said, ‘Don’t ’ee tell her’; but I am sure I can’t help it! It was what he wanted Izz to do. He wanted her to go off to Brazil with him.”
Tess’s face faded as white as the scene without, and its curves straightened. “And did Izz refuse to go?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Anyhow he changed his mind.”
“Pooh—then he didn’t mean it! ’Twas just a man’s jest!”
“Yes he did; for he drove her a good-ways towards the station.”