The House Behind The Cedars [95]
so dazzled by his own superiority, so blinded by his own glory, that he had ruthlessly spurned and spoiled the image of God in this fair creature, whom he might have had for his own treasure,-- whom, please God, he would yet have, at any cost, to love and cherish while they both should live. There were difficulties--they had seemed insuperable, but love would surmount them. Sacrifices must be made, but if the world without love would be nothing, then why not give up the world for love? He would hasten to Patesville. He would find her; he would tell her that he loved her, that she was all the world to him, that he had come to marry her, and take her away where they might be happy together. He pictured to himself the joy that would light up her face; he felt her soft arms around his neck, her tremulous kisses upon his lips. If she were ill, his love would woo her back to health,--if disappointment and sorrow had contributed to her illness, joy and gladness should lead to her recovery.
He urged the mare forward; if she would but keep up her present pace, he would reach Patesville by nightfall.
Dr. Green had just gone down the garden path to his buggy at the gate. Mis' Molly came out to the back piazza, where Frank, weary and haggard, sat on the steps with Homer Pettifoot and Billy Oxendine, who, hearing of Rena's return, had come around after their day's work.
"Rena wants to see you, Frank," said Mis' Molly, with a sob.
He walked in softly, reverently, and stood by her bedside. She turned her gentle eyes upon him and put out her slender hand, which he took in his own broad palm.
"Frank," she murmured, "my good friend-- my best friend--you loved me best of them all."
The tears rolled untouched down his cheeks. "I'd 'a' died, fer you, Miss Rena," he said brokenly.
Mary B. threw open a window to make way for the passing spirit, and the red and golden glory of the setting sun, triumphantly ending his daily course, flooded the narrow room with light.
Between sunset and dark a traveler, seated in a dusty buggy drawn by a tired horse, crossed the long river bridge and drove up Front Street. Just as the buggy reached the gate in front of the house behind the cedars, a woman was tying a piece of crape upon the door-knob. Pale with apprehension, Tryon sat as if petrified, until a tall, side-whiskered mulatto came down the garden walk to the front gate.
"Who's dead?" demanded Tryon hoarsely, scarcely recognizing his own voice.
"A young cullud 'oman, sah," answered Homer Pettifoot, touching his hat, "Mis' Molly Walden's daughter Rena."
End
He urged the mare forward; if she would but keep up her present pace, he would reach Patesville by nightfall.
Dr. Green had just gone down the garden path to his buggy at the gate. Mis' Molly came out to the back piazza, where Frank, weary and haggard, sat on the steps with Homer Pettifoot and Billy Oxendine, who, hearing of Rena's return, had come around after their day's work.
"Rena wants to see you, Frank," said Mis' Molly, with a sob.
He walked in softly, reverently, and stood by her bedside. She turned her gentle eyes upon him and put out her slender hand, which he took in his own broad palm.
"Frank," she murmured, "my good friend-- my best friend--you loved me best of them all."
The tears rolled untouched down his cheeks. "I'd 'a' died, fer you, Miss Rena," he said brokenly.
Mary B. threw open a window to make way for the passing spirit, and the red and golden glory of the setting sun, triumphantly ending his daily course, flooded the narrow room with light.
Between sunset and dark a traveler, seated in a dusty buggy drawn by a tired horse, crossed the long river bridge and drove up Front Street. Just as the buggy reached the gate in front of the house behind the cedars, a woman was tying a piece of crape upon the door-knob. Pale with apprehension, Tryon sat as if petrified, until a tall, side-whiskered mulatto came down the garden walk to the front gate.
"Who's dead?" demanded Tryon hoarsely, scarcely recognizing his own voice.
"A young cullud 'oman, sah," answered Homer Pettifoot, touching his hat, "Mis' Molly Walden's daughter Rena."
End