"Try to keep up courage, Will," she said, pushing him into the area under the back steps; "and above all things, do not come here again.It is so unsafe."He promised lightly that he would not, and then told her good-by with an affectionate pat upon the arm.
"Well, you are a bully good chap, after all," he added, as he stepped out into the night.
For a while Maria stood looking after him across the moonlit fields, and then, even as she turned to enter the house, the last troubled hour was blotted from her consciousness, and she lived over again the moment of Christopher's embrace.With that peculiar power to revive and hold within the memory an instant's emotion which is possessed by ardent and imaginative women, she experienced again all the throbbing exhilaration, all the fulness of being, which had seemed to crowd the heartbeats of so many ordinary years into the single minute that was packed with life.
That minute was hers now for all time; it was a possession of which no material loss, no untoward fate could defraud her; and as she felt her steps softly up the dark staircase, it seemed to her that she saw her way by the light of the lamp that was burning in her bosom.
To her surprise, as she reached the dining-room a candle was thrust out before her, and, illuminated by the trembling flame, she saw the face of Fletcher, hairy, bloated, sinister, with the shadow of evil impulses worked into the mouth and eyes.For a moment he wagged at her in silence, and in the flickering radiance she saw each swollen vein, each gloomy furrow, with exaggerated distinctness.He reminded her vaguely of some hideous gargoyle she had seen hanging from an early Gothic cathedral.
"So you've taken to gallivanting, like the rest," he observed with coarse pleasantry."I'd thought you were a staid and sober-minded woman for your years, but it seems that you are of a bunch with all the others.""I've been out in the moonlight," answered Maria, while a sensation of sickness stole over her.
"It is as bright as day, but I thought you were in bed long ago.""Thar's not much sleep for me during tobacco planting, I kin tell you," rejoined Fletcher; "but as for you, I reckon thar's more beneath your words than you like to own to.You've been over to see that young scamp, ain't you?""I saw him, but I did not go out for that purpose.""It's the truth, I reckon, for I've never known you to lie, and I'll be hanged if it ain't that I like about you, after all.
You're the only person I kin spot, man or woman, who speaks the truth jest for the darn love of it.""And yet I lived a lie for five years," returned Maria quietly.
"Maybe so, maybe so; but it set on you like the burr on a chestnut, somehow, and when it rolled off thar you were, as clean as ever.Well, you're an honest and spunky woman, and I can't help your traipsing over thar even if I wanted to.But thar's one thing I tell you now right flat--if that young rascal wants to keep a whole skin he'd better stay off this place.I'd shoot him down as soon as I would a sheep-killing hound.""Oh, he won't come here," said Maria faintly; and, going into the dining-room, she dropped into a chair and lay with her arms outstretched upon the table.The second shock to her emotional ecstasy had been too much, and the furniture and Fletcher's face and the glare of the candle all spun before her in a sickening confusion.
After looking at her anxiously an instant, Fletcher poured out a glass of water and begged her to take a swallow."Thar, thar, Ididn't mean to skeer you," he said kindly."You mustn't mind my rough-and-ready ways, for I'm a plain man, God knows.If you are sure you feel fainty," he added, "I'll git you a sip of whisky, but it's a pity to waste it unless you have a turn.""Oh, I'm all right," answered Maria, sitting up, and returning his inquiring gaze with a shake of the head."My ankle is still weak, you know, and I felt a sudden twinge from standing on it.
What were you looking for at this hour?"
"Well, I've been out in the air sense supper, and I feel kind of gone.I thought I'd like a bite of something--maybe a scrap of that cold jowl we had for dinner.But I can't find it.Do you reckon Saidie is such a blamed fool as to throw the scraps away?""There's Malindy, you know; she must eat.""I'd like to see one nigger eat up half a jowl," grumbled Fletcher, rooting among the dishes in the sideboard."Thar was a good big hunk of it left, for you didn't touch it.You don't seem to thrive on our victuals," he added bluntly, turning to peer into her face.
"I'm a small eater; it makes little difference.""Well, we mustn't starve you," he said, as he went back to his search; "and if it's a matter of a pound of fresh butter, or a spring chicken, even, I won't let it stand in your way.Why, what's this, I wonder?"Ripping out an oath with an angry snort, he drew forth Miss Saidie's walnut cake and held it squarely before the candle."Ideclar, if she ain't been making walnut cake agin, and I told her last week I wan't going to have her wasting all my eggs.Look at it, will you? If she's beat up one egg in that cake she's beat up a dozen, to say nothing of the sugar!""Don't scold her, grandfather.She has a sweet tooth, you know, and it's so hard for her not to make desserts.""Pish! Tush! I don't reckon her tooth's any sweeter than mine.
I've a powerful taste for trash myself, and always had since the time I overate ripe honey-shucks when I was six months old; but the taste don't make me throw away good money.I'll have no more of this, I tell you, and I've said my say.She can bake a bit of cake once a week if she'll stint herself to an egg or two, but when it comes to mixing up a dozen at a time, I'll be darned if I'll allow it."Lifting the plate in one hand, he stood surveying the big cake with disapproving yet admiring eyes."It would serve her right if I was to eat up every precious crumb," he remarked at last.
