“My Lord!” Pole exclaimed; “and there was a time when I actually thought—but that's her matter, Nelson. A man hain't got no right on earth dabblin' in a woman's heart-affairs. To me nothin' ain't more sacred than a woman's choice of her life-partner.”
“Mrs. Porter hinted plainly that Cynthia was thinking of marrying Hillhouse,” said Floyd.
“Ah, now I begin to see ahead!” the farmer said, reflectively. “Cynthia's down at Cartersville now, on a visit to her cousins, and the long-legged parson is there, too, filling in for another preacher. I don't pretend to understand women, Nelson. Thar's been a lots o' talk about her and Hillhouse since you went off. I axed Sally what she thought about it, an' she seemed to think if Cynthia had quit thinkin' o' you it was due to the reports in circulation that you had started in to drinkin'. Sally thought that Cynthia was one woman that 'ud not resk her chance with a drinkin' man. Cynthia's a good girl, Nelson, and maybe she thinks she kin make herse'f useful in life by marrying a preacher. I dunno. And then he is a bright sort of fellow; he is sharp enough to know that she is the smartest and best unmarried woman in Georgia. Well, that will be purty hard fer you to bear, but you must face it along with the other, my boy.”
“Yes, I've got to grin and bear it,” Floyd said, almost under his breath. “I've got to face that and the knowledge that I might have won her if I had gone about it in the right way. From my unfortunate father I have inherited some gross passions, Pole, and I was not always strong enough to rise above them. I made many big mistakes before I met her, and even after that, I blush to say, my old tendency clung to me so that—well, I never understood her, as she really deserved, till the day you raked me over the coals at the bush-arbor meeting. Pole, that night, when she and I were thrown by the storm in that barn together, I remembered all you said. It seemed to give me new birth, and I saw her for the first time as she was, in all her wonderful womanly strength and beauty of character and soul, and from that moment I loved her. My God, Pole, the realization of that big, new passion broke over me like a great, dazzling light. It took me in its grasp and shook everything that was vile and gross out of me. From that moment I could never look into her face for very shame of having failed to comprehend her.”
“I seed you was in danger,” Pole said, modestly. “It was a mighty hard thing to have to talk as I did to a friend, but I felt that it was my duty, and out it come. I'm not goin' to take no hand in this, though, Nelson. I think you are in every way worthy o' her, but, as I say, only a woman kin tell who she ought to yoke with fer life. If she refused you, after due deliberation, an' decided on another man, why, I hain't one single word to say. I'm after her happiness, as I'm after yore'n. I'd like to see you linked together, but ef that ain't to be, then I want to see you both happy apart.”
For a moment neither spoke. Then it seemed that Pole wanted to change the subject.
“In tryin' to run upon you this mornin', Nelson,” he said, “I went out to yore—out to Henry A. Floyd's. That woman, his housekeeper, met me at the door an' let me inside the hall. She's a kind, talkative old soul, and she's worried mighty nigh to death about the old man. She remembered seein' me before, an' she set in to tellin' me all about his troubles. It seems that he's had some lawsuit, an' his last scrap o' property is to be tuck away from him. She told me thar was a debt of three thousand dollars to pay in the morning or' everything would go. While she was talkin' he come along, lookin' more dead than alive, an' I axed 'im ef he could put me on to yore track. He glared at me like a crazy man; his jaws was all sunk in, an' with his gray hair an' beard untrimmed, an' his body all of a quiver, he simply looked terrible.
“'No,' said he, 'I don't know whar you kin find 'im. I've heard that he was in trouble, an' I'm sorry, fer I know what trouble means,' an' with that he stood thar twistin' his hands an' cryin' like a pitiful little child about the three thousand dollars his creditors wanted, an' that thar wasn't a ghost of a chance to raise it. He said he'd made every effort, an' now was starin' starvation in the face. He turned an' went back to his room, puttin' his old, bony hand on the wall to keep from failin' as he moved along. I'm a pore man, Nelson, but, by all that's holy, ef I'd 'a' had the money the old chap wanted this mornin' I'd 'a' hauled it out an' 'a' kissed it farewell. I'm that way, Nelson. A fool an' his money is soon parted. I'd 'a' been seven idiots in a row ef I'd 'a' had that much cash, fer I'd certainly 'a' yanked that squirmin' old. chap off'n his bed o' coals.”
Floyd bent towards the speaker. Their eyes met understandingly.
“But I've got money, Pole—money to spare—and that old wreck is my father's only brother. I've made a fortune in a single deal to-day. Look here, Pole, I'm going out there to-night—to-night, do you understand?—to-night, before he goes to bed, and give him a check that will more than cover his shortage.”