Bud stirred in the darkened room, but Mrs. Allison was silent.
“Always, soon or late,” she thought to herself, “a man comes ridin’ out th’ night—an’ a woman is waitin’. It’s comin’ late to her—she’ll be twenty-two come June—but it’s comin’. An’ she don’t know it yet.”
“Good evening,” said a deep voice pleasantly as the dark horse stopped in the dooryard, “is a stranger welcome?”
“We’ve been listening for you every night,” said the girl simply, “it’s been a long time.”
“Brand!” cried the child sharply, struggling frantically to find his feet, “Oh! Oh!—Brand!”
The man dismounted and came forward.
He lifted the boy and kissed him, holding him on his breast, while he held out a hand to Nance.
At its warm clasp the surging glory inside her deepened strangely.
Mrs. Allison rose and lighted the lamp on the table.
“Come in, stranger,” she said, “an’ set.”