A certain vindictiveness showed in Plutina’s comment concerning the death of the man at whose hands she had so suffered.
Clara Kimball Young under the direction of Lewis J. Selznick.
THE COMING OF PEACE.
“His bein’ so afeared o’ thet-thar thing kep’ ’im from hurtin’ me,” she said, reflectively. “He was shorely sot ag’inst havin’ ’is neck bruk, an’, arter all, thet’s jest what he got.” She smiled, contentedly. For Plutina was a primitive woman, strong in her love, and strong in her hate.
It was a day of early autumn. The timber rights had been secured to the satisfaction of Sutton. The tree-nail factory was being built. Zeke was become a man of importance in the region.
The lover’s wedding-day was less than a month distant. To-day, Plutina had been for a visit to the Widow Higgins, and now Zeke was walking home with her. They paused at the place where had been their meeting on the morning of the lad’s first adventuring into the world. Memories flooded them, as they looked across the valley to the bleak cliffs of Stone Mountain, which rose in aged, rugged grandeur, softened in this hour by the veils of haze, warmed with the lambent hues of sunset.
In answer to Plutina, Zeke shook his head perplexedly.