"About him," said Samson, thoughtfully. "May I tell you something
which, although it's a thing in your own heart, you have never quite
known?"
She nodded, and he went on.
"The thing which you call fascination in me was really just a proxy,
Drennie. You were liking qualities in me that were really his
qualities. Just because you had known him only in gentle guise, his
finish blinded you to his courage. Because he could turn 'to woman the
heart of a woman,' you failed to see that under it was the 'iron and
fire.' You thought you saw those qualities in me, because I wore my
bark as shaggy as that scaling hickory over there. When he was getting
anonymous threats of death every morning, he didn't mention them to
you. He talked of teas and dances. I know his danger was real, because
they tried to have me kill him--and if I'd been the man they took me
for, I reckon I'd have done it. I was mad to my marrow that night--for
a minute. I don't hold a brief for Wilfred, but I know that you liked
me first for qualities which he has as strongly as I--and more
strongly. He's a braver man than I, because, though raised to gentle
things, when you ordered him into the fight, he was there. He never
turned back, or flickered. I was raised on raw meat and gunpowder, but
he went in without training."
The girl's eyes grew grave and thoughtful, and for the rest of the way
she rode in silence.
There were transformations, too, in the house of Spicer South. Windows
had been cut, and lamps adopted. It was no longer so crudely a pioneer
abode. While they waited for dinner, a girl lightly crossed the stile,
and came up to the house. Adrienne met her at the door, while Samson
and Horton stood back, waiting. Suddenly, Miss Lescott halted and
regarded the newcomer in surprise. It was the same girl she had seen,
yet a different girl. Her hair no longer fell in tangled masses. Her
feet were no longer bare. Her dress, though simple, was charming, and,
when she spoke, her English had dropped its half-illiterate
peculiarities, though the voice still held its bird-like melody.
"Oh, Samson," cried Adrienne, "you two have been deceiving me! Sally,
you were making up, dressing the part back there, and letting me
patronize you."
Sally's laughter broke from her throat in a musical peal, but it still
held the note of shyness, and it was Samson who spoke.