Way Down East - A Romance of New England Life - Page 39/80

Her energy never flagged, she did her share of the work with the light

hand of experience that delighted the old housekeeper. It was so good

to feel a roof over her head, and to feel that she was earning her

right to it.

Supper had been cooked, the table laid and everything was in readiness

for the family meal, but the old clock wanted five minutes of the hour;

the girl came out into the glowing sunset to draw a pail of water from

the old well, but paused to enjoy the scene. Purple, gold and crimson

was the mantle of the departing day; and all her crushed and hopeless

youth rose, cheered by its glory.

"Thank God," she murmured fervently, "at last I have found a refuge. I

am beginning life again. The shadow of the old one will rest on me

forever, but time and work, the cure for every grief, will cure me."

Her eyes had been turned toward the west, where the day was going out

in such a riot of splendor, and she had not noticed the man who entered

the gate and was making his way toward her, flicking his boots with his

riding crop as he walked.

She turned suddenly at the sound of steps on the gravel; in the

gathering darkness neither could see nor recognize the other till they

were face to face.

The woman's face blanched, she stifled an exclamation of horror and

stared at him.

"You! you here!"

It was Lennox Sanderson, and the sight of him, so suddenly, in this

out-of-the-way place, made her reel, almost fainting against the

well-curb.

He grabbed her arm and shook her roughly, and said, "What are you doing

here, in this place?"

"I am trying to earn my living. Go, go," she whispered.

"Do you think I came here after you?" he sneered. "I've come to see

the Squire." All the selfishness and cowardice latent in Sanderson's

character were reflected in his face, at that moment, destroying its

natural symmetry, disfiguring it with tell-tale lines, and showing him

at his par value--a weak, contemptible libertine, brought to bay.

This meeting with his victim after all these long months of silence, in

this remote place, deprived him, momentarily, of his customary poise

and equilibrium. Why was she here? Would she denounce him to these

people? What effect would it have? were some of the questions that

whirled through his brain as they stood together in the gathering

twilight.

But the shrinking look in her eyes allayed his fears. He read terror

in every line of her quivering figure, and in the frantic way she clung

to the well-curb to increase the space between them. She, with the

right to accuse, unconsciously took the attitude of supplication. The

man knew he had nothing to fear, and laid his plans accordingly.