He felt an almost uncontrollable
desire to raise her in his arms, to unbosom his anguish to her, and
propose that they both fight their battles of forgetfulness side by
side, but he shrank from it. The thought of Wambush was again upon him
like some rasping soul-irritant.
"No, no; I'm going back to the stable," he said, fiercely. "I will not
stay here any longer--not a day longer!"
He saw her start, and then she put down the blanket and stood up. "I
do not understand you at all, sometimes" she faltered, "not at all."
"But I understand you, God knows," he returned, bitterly. "Harriet,
little, suffering, wronged woman, I know something about you. I know
what has been worrying you so much since I came here."
She started and an awful look crept into her face.
"Oh, Mr. Westerfelt, do you?"
"Yes, I know it--that's enough now; let's agree never again to speak of
it. I don't want to talk about it, and I reckon you don't. Anyway, it
can't be helped."
"No, it can't be helped." Her lips began to twitch and quiver, and her
eyes went down.
"I understand it all now," she added.
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