“Every family must have a head; and Mr. Poythress was the head of his. Few women could have stood up long against his firm will and his clear-cut, vigorous convictions. At any rate, acquiescence in whatever he thought and did had become a second nature with his gentle wife; who had come to look upon him as a model of wisdom, virtue, and piety. She had even reached the point, by degrees, of heartily accepting his various isms; and though she sometimes winced under the austere puritanism that marked the restrictions he imposed upon their boy, she never doubted that it was all for the best. Very well, she would end by saying, I suppose you are right. There were no disputes,—hardly any discussions under the Oakhurst roof.
“Imagine, therefore, the scene, when this soft-eyed woman, dragging her son up to his father, pointed to his bloody back with quivering finger and a face on fire with eloquent indignation!
“‘Were you mad? What fiend possessed you? And such a son! Merciful Father,’ she cried, with clasped hands, ‘what have I done, that I should see such a sight as this! Come,’ said she; and taking her son’s arm, she hurried him to his room, leaving Mr. Poythress speechless and stunned; as well by shame as by the suddenness of her passionate invective.
“There she cut the shirt from his back, and after washing away the blood, helped him to dress. ‘Now lie down,’ said she.
“He did as he was bidden; obeying her, mechanically, in all things. But he spoke not a single word.
“She left the room and came back, an hour afterwards. His position was not changed in the least. Even his eyes were still staring straight in front of him, just as when she left the room. She said, afterwards, that there was no anger in his look, but dead despair only. When she asked if he would come down to dinner, there was a change. He gave her one searching glance of amazement, then fixed his eyes on the wall again. At supper-time he came down-stairs, but passed by the dining-room door without stopping. His mother called to him, but he did not seem to hear. He returned in half an hour, and went to his room. He had gone, as she afterwards learned, to the cabin of the negro lad, and called him out. ‘You stood by me to-day,’ said he. ‘I have come to thank you. I shan’t forget it, that’s all.’ And he wrung his hand and returned to the house.
“At eleven his mother found him lying on his bed, dressed. ‘Get up, my darling, and undress yourself and go to bed.’
“He rose, and she threw her arms around him.
“Presently, releasing himself, gently, from her embrace, he placed his hands upon her shoulders, and holding her at arm’s length, gave her one long look of unapproachable tenderness; then suddenly clasping her in his arms, and covering her face with devouring kisses, he released her.
“‘Good-night, my precious boy!’