LATE that afternoon Jeb returned to the house after several hours of uneasy, aimless pottering about at barn and woodshed.
He stumped and stamped around the kitchen, then in the sitting-room, finally he mustered the courage to look into the bedroom, from which he had slunk like a criminal three hours before.There she lay, apparently in the same position.Her waxen color and her absolute stillness added fear to his sense of guilt--a guilt against which he protested, because he felt he had simply done what God and man expected of him.He stood in the low doorway for some time, stood there peering and craning until his fear grew so great that he could no longer put off ending or confirming it.
"Sleepin'?" said he in a hoarse undertone.
She did not reply; she did not move.He could not see that she was breathing.
"It'll soon be time to git supper," he went on--not because he was thinking of supper but because he was desperately clutching for something that must draw a reply from her--if she could reply.
"Want me to clean up the dinner and put the supper things on?"She made a feeble effort to rise, sank back again.He drew an audible sigh of relief; at least she was not what her color had suggested.
In fact, she was morbidly conscious.The instant she had heard him at the outer door she had begun to shiver and shake, and not until he moved toward the bedroom door did she become quiet.
Then a calm had come into her nerves and her flesh--the calm that descends upon the brave when the peril actually faces.As he stood there her eyes were closed, but the smell of him--beneath the earthy odor of his clothing the odor of the bodies of those who eat strong, coarse food--stole into her nostrils, into her nerves.Her whole body sickened and shrank--for to her now that odor meant marriage--and she would not have believed Hell contained or Heaven permitted such a thing as was marriage.She understood now why the Bible always talked of man as a vile creature born in sin.
Jeb was stealthily watching her ghastly face, her limp body.
"Feelin' sickish?" he asked.
A slight movement of the head in assent.
"I kin ride over to Beecamp and fetch Doc Christie."Another and negative shake of the head, more determined.The pale lips murmured, "No--no, thank you." She was not hating him.
He existed for her only as a symbol, in this hideous dream called life, that was coiled like a snake about her and was befouling her and stinging her to death.
"Don't you bother 'bout supper," said he with gruff, shamefaced generosity."I'll look out for myself, this onct."He withdrew to the kitchen, where she heard him clattering dishes and pans.Daylight waned to twilight, twilight to dusk, to darkness.She did not think; she did not feel, except an occasional dull pang from some bodily bruise.Her soul, her mind, were absolutely numb.Suddenly a radiance beat upon her eyes.All in an instant, before the lifting of her eyelids, soul and body became exquisitely acute; for she thought it was he come again, with a lamp.She looked; it was the moon whose beams struck full in at the uncurtained window and bathed her face in their mild brighteness.She closed her eyes again and presently fell asleep--the utter relaxed sleep of a child that is worn out with pain, when nature turns gentle nurse and sets about healing and soothing as only nature can.When she awoke it was with a scream.No, she was not dreaming; there was an odor in the room--his odor, with that of a saloon added to it.
After cooking and eating supper he had taken the jug from its concealment behind the woodbox and had proceeded to cheer his drooped spirits.The more he drank the better content he was with himself, with his conduct, and the clearer became his conviction that the girl was simply playing woman's familiar game of dainty modesty.A proper game it was too; only a man must not pay attention to it unless he wished his woman to despise him.When this conviction reached the point of action he put away the jug, washed the glass, ate a liberal mouthful of the left-over stewed onions, as he would not for worlds have his bride catch him tippling.He put out the lamp and went to the bedroom, chuckling to himself like a man about to play a particularly clever and extremely good-humored practical joke.
His preparations for the night were, as always, extremely simple merely a flinging off of his outer clothes and, in summer, his socks.From time to time he cast an admiring amorous glance at the lovely childlike face in the full moonlight.As he was about to stretch himself on the bed beside her he happened to note that she was dressed as when she came.That stylish, Sundayish dress was already too much mussed and wrinkled.He leaned over to wake her with a kiss.It was then that she started up with a scream.
"Oh--oh--my God!" she exclaimed, passing her hand over her brow and staring at him with crazed, anguished eyes.
"It's jest me," said he."Thought you'd want to git ready fur bed, like as not.""No, thank you, no," she stammered, drawing away toward the inner side of the bed."Please I want to be as I am.""Now, don't put on, sweetness," he wheedled."You know you're married and 'ave got to git used to it."He laid his hand on her arm.She had intended to obey, since that was the law of God and man and since in all the world there was no other place for her, nameless and outcast.But at his touch she clenched her teeth, cried:
"No--Mr.Ferguson--please--_please_ let me be.""Now, hon," he pleaded, seizing her with strong gentleness.
