* * * * * No sound broke the stillness in the parlor at the farm. Buck was leaning against the small centre-table gravely watching the bowed head of the silently-weeping girl, who was seated upon the rough settle which lined the wall. Her slight figure was supported by the pillows which had been set in place by the ministering hands of Mrs. Ransford.
Buck's reception by the farm-wife had been very different on this occasion. She had met him with his burden some distance down the trail, whither she had followed her young mistress, whose fleetness had left her far behind. Her tongue had started to clack at once, but Buck was in no mood to put up with unnecessary chatter. A peremptory order had had the astonishing effect of silencing her, and a further command had set her bustling to help her mistress.
Once immediate needs had been attended to, the man told his story briefly, and added his interpretation of the scene he had just witnessed. He further dispatched the old woman to summon the hired man from his ploughing, and, for once, found ready obedience where he might well have expected nothing but objection.
Thus it was the man and girl were alone in the parlor. Buck was waiting for Joan's storm of tears to pass.
The moment came at last, and quite abruptly. Joan stirred; she flung her head up and dashed the weak tears from her eyes, struggling bravely for composure. But the moment she spoke her words belied the resolution, and showed her still in the toils of an overwhelming despair.
"What can I do?" she cried piteously. "What am I to do? I can see nothing--nothing but disaster in every direction. It is all a part of my life; a part of me. I cannot escape it. I have tried to, but--I cannot. Oh, I feel so helpless--so helpless!"
Buck's eyes shone with love and pity. He was stirred to the depths of his manhood by her appeal. Here again was that shadow she had spoken of before, that he had become familiar with. He tried to tell himself that she was simply unnerved, but he knew her trouble was more than that. All his love drove him to a longing for a means of comforting her.
"Forget the things you seen," he said in a low tone. And he felt that his words were bald--even stupid.
The girl's troubled eyes were looking up into his in a desperate hope. It was almost as if this man were her only support, and she were making one final appeal before abandoning altogether her saving hold.
"Forget them? Oh, Buck, Buck, you don't know what you are saying. You don't understand--you can't, or you would not speak like that. You see," she went on, forgetting in her trouble that this man did not know her story, "Ike was here. Here! He made--love to me. He--he kissed me. He brutally kissed me when I had no power to resist him. And now--now this has happened."