Round her was a dark, partially floored
space containing hay, fodder, boxes of shelled corn, piles of corn in
the husk, and bales of cotton-seed meal. She rapped on the
door-facing, and, as she received no response, she called out:
"Mr. Westerfelt, come out a minute."
She heard him rise from his bed, and in a moment he stood in the
doorway.
"Oh, it's you!" he cried, in a glad voice. "I was afraid you were not
well. I--"
"I am all right," she assured him. "But I simply couldn't rest till I
saw you with my own eyes. When I heard they let you off I was afraid
it was a false report. Sometimes, when those men do a bad thing they
try to cover it up. Oh, Mr. Westerfelt, I am so--so miserable!"
He caught her hands and tried to draw her into his room out of the
draught which came up the stairs, but she would not go farther than the
door.
"No, I must hurry back home" she said. "Mother did not want me to come
anyway; she didn't think it looked right, but I was so--so worried."
"I understand." He was feasting his eyes on hers; it was as if their
hunger could never be appeased.
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