Part 83

“Yes, you will tell her,” said her lover. “And I must tell her too.”

“Both of us?” questioned the girl.

What would he say to her mother? How would her mother like such a letter as he would write to her? Suppose he should misspell a word? Would not sentences from him at this time--written sentences--be a further bar to his welcome acceptance at Bennington?

“Why don’t you send messages by me?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “She is not going to like it, anyway,” he answered. “I must speak to her direct. It would be like shirking.”

Molly saw how true his instinct was here; and a little flame shot upward from the glow of her love and pride in him. Oh, if they could all only know that he was like this when you understood him! She did not dare say out to him what her fear was about this letter of his to her mother. She did not dare because--well, because she lacked a little faith. That is it, I am afraid. And for that sin she was her own punishment. For in this day, and in many days to come, the pure joy of her love was vexed and clouded, all through a little lack of faith; while for him, perfect in his faith, his joy was like crystal.

“Tell me what you’re going to write,” she said.

He smiled at her. “No.”

“Aren’t you going to let me see it when it’s done?”

“No.” Then a freakish look came into his eyes. “I’ll let yu’ see anything I write to other women.” And he gave her one of his long kisses. “Let’s get through with it together,” he suggested, when they were once more in his sick-room, that room which she had given to him. “You’ll sit one side o’ the table, and I’ll sit the other, and we’ll go ahaid; and pretty soon it will be done.”

“O dear!” she said. “Yes, I suppose that is the best way.”

And so, accordingly, they took their places. The inkstand stood between them. Beside each of them she distributed paper enough, almost, for a presidential message. And pens and pencils were in plenty. Was this not the headquarters of the Bear Creek schoolmarm?

“Why, aren’t you going to do it in pencil first?” she exclaimed, looking up from her vacant sheet. His pen was moving slowly, but steadily.

“No, I don’t reckon I need to,” he answered, with his nose close to the paper. “Oh, damnation, there’s a blot!” He tore his spoiled beginning in small bits, and threw them into the fireplace. “You’ve got it too full,” he commented; and taking the inkstand, he tipped a little from it out of the window. She sat lost among her false starts. Had she heard him swear, she would not have minded. She rather liked it when he swore. He possessed that quality in his profanity of not offending by it. It is quite wonderful how much worse the same word will sound in one man’s lips than in another’s. But she did not hear him. Her mind was among a litter of broken sentences. Each thought which she began ran out into the empty air, or came against some stone wall. So there she sat, her eyes now upon that inexorable blank sheet that lay before her, waiting, and now turned with vacant hopelessness upon the sundry objects in the room. And while she thus sat accomplishing nothing, opposite to her the black head bent down, and the steady pen moved from phrase to phrase.

She became aware of his gazing at her, flushed and solemn. That strange color of the sea-water, which she could never name, was lustrous in his eyes. He was folding his letter.

“You have finished?” she said.

“Yes.” His voice was very quiet. “I feel like an honester man.”

“Perhaps I can do something to-night at Mrs. Taylor’s,” she said, looking at her paper.

On it were a few words crossed out. This was all she had to show. At this set task in letter-writing, the cow-puncher had greatly excelled the schoolmarm!

But that night, while he lay quite fast asleep in his bed, she was keeping vigil in her room at Mrs. Taylor’s.

Accordingly, the next day, those three letters departed for the mail, and Mrs. Taylor consequently made her exclamation, “It’s come!”

On the day before the Virginian returned to take up his work at Judge Henry’s ranch, he and Molly announced their news. What Molly said to Mrs. Taylor and what Mrs. Taylor said to her, is of no interest to us, though it was of much to them.

But Mr. McLean happened to make a call quite early in the morning to inquire for his friend’s health.

“Lin,” began the Virginian, “there is no harm in your knowing an hour or so before the rest, I am--”

“Lord!” said Mr. McLean, indulgently. “Everybody has knowed that since the day she found yu’ at the spring.”

“It was not so, then,” said the Virginian, crossly.

“Lord! Everybody has knowed it right along.”

“Hmp!” said the Virginian. “I didn’t know this country was that rank with gossips.”