"I promise you that I won't fail," he said, earnestly, fumbling his coarse cap in his hands.
"And I believe you mean it." She smiled that entrancing smile again and, to his surprise, she held out her hand. As he took it an indescribable sensation passed over him. It felt soft and warm and like some sentient, pulsing thing too delicate and helpless for the touch of the rough palm which now held it.
"Many have fooled me, both white and black," she went on. "They swore they would come—even some of our old slaves—but didn't. However, I know I can count on you."
"You may be sure of it," he answered. "The obligation is on the other side. I want work badly and I am grateful to you for giving it to me."
"Oh, I hope you will like it out there!" she said, thoughtfully, as she lingered, and with her words she dropped her eyes for the first time. "We have our troubles and you will be sure to notice them. I have two brothers, Kenneth and Martin, both older than I am, and I may as well tell you that they are somewhat wild and reckless. I never know where they are half the time. Yes, they are bad—they are my dear brothers and I love them with all my heart, but they are bad. They drink; they play poker; they are always in fights. It was to get Kenneth out of trouble, to pay his lawyer and the fines, that we sold some of our best land. He wasn't altogether to blame, I'll say that; but he is quick-tempered and never could control himself. Martin is getting to be like him. He imitates Kenneth in everything. It all rests on me, too. My father is as easy-going as an old shoe and doesn't care much what happens. You will find him odd, I reckon. He has only one hand; he can't work, and so he is always at his books. He is writing a history of the Rowlands. He spends all our spare change for stamps to write to people of that name whenever he happens to hear of one. It is a fearful waste of time and energy, but it amuses him and I can't object. Well, I am going now. I'll count on you, sure."
"You may be sure I'll come," Charles repeated. He had the feeling that he ought to accompany her to the door, but at once realized that the instinct to do so came from the past in which he had the social right to consider himself on an equality with any lady. He sat down in his chair and watched her as she moved through the motley throng of country people in the store. How different she seemed from them all! Then an indescribable sense of dissatisfaction came over him. Why, he was to be her servant, nothing more nor less, and the freedom she had shown meant nothing. Yet surely it wasn't so bad as that, after all. She had said that he seemed to have a sensitive nature and that he struck her as being an educated man. Yes, she had said those things, and he was sure that the memory of them would never leave him. He was glad that he had parted company with Mason, as much as he liked him, for he wanted to hug this new adventure close to his own individual breast. She had her troubles, and was bravely bearing them. He would never complain again over his lot. He went through the store and out onto the street. There was something in the very atmosphere that seemed to shower down content and joy upon him. He spent the remainder of the day wandering about the old town, almost as one in a delightful dream. He was almost superstitious enough to think that some guiding angel in an invisible world had led him to this spot. Ruth, Celeste, William—they might remain out of his life forever. He had passed through a terrible travail to attain this new birth, but the whole ordeal was worth it. He told himself that no vastly good thing ever came till the price was paid, and he had paid long and well for this. Work? He laughed. He could work till he fell in exhaustion in such a cause. Then he laughed again.
"Why, she is only a girl!" he said. "Am I a fool? After all these years of common sense am I losing my mind? Now what is there about her that does not belong to the average woman?"
He did not attempt to fathom the mystery. He only knew that he was already itching with the desire to see her again. He wanted to serve her. She was a merry child and a thoughtful woman deliciously compounded. The lights of joy and the shadows of trouble seemed alternately to flit over her wondrous being. She had troubles, and so had he. He was almost glad that it was so, for he would kill his own in fighting hers. Her round, mellow accent sounded in his ears like dream music. The touch of her delicate hand remained, and thrilled him through and through.