me; why couldn't you have said a good word to me
sometimes? I didn't have a friend in the world, and I was so lonesome
and tired and--and--and--everything!"

Her reproachful appeal was disconcerting to Joe. How could he tell her
that he had not understood her striving and yearning to reach him, and
that at last understanding, he had been appalled by the enormity of his
own heart's desire. He said nothing for a little while, but took her by
one tear-wet hand and led her away from the door. Near the table he
stopped, still holding her hand, stroking it tenderly with comforting
touch.

"Never mind, Ollie," said he at last; "you go to bed now and don't think
any more about going away with Morgan. If I thought it was best for your
peace and happiness for you to go, I'd step out of the way at once. But
he'd drag you down, Ollie, lower than any woman you ever saw, for they
don't have that kind of women here. Morgan isn't as good a man as Isom
is, with all his hard ways and stinginess. If he's honest and honorable,
he can wait for you till Isom dies. He'll not last more than ten or
fifteen years longer, and you'll be young even then, Ollie. I don't
suppose anybody ever gets too old to be happy any more than they get too
old to be sad."

"No, I don't suppose they do, Joe," she sighed.

She had calmed down while he talked. Now she wiped her eyes on her veil,
while the last convulsions of sobbing shook her now and then, like the
withdrawing rumble of thunder after a storm.

"I'll put out the light, Ollie," said he. "You go on to bed."

"Oh, Joe, Joe!" said she in a little pleading, meaningless way; a little
way of reproach and softness.

She lifted her tear-bright eyes, with the reflection of her subsiding
passion in them, and looked yearningly into his. Ollie suddenly found
herself feeling small and young, penitent and frail, in the presence of
this quickly developed man. His strength seemed to rise above her, and
spread round her, and warm her in its protecting folds. There was
comfort in him, and promise.

The wife of the dead viking could turn to the living victor with a
smile. It is a comforting faculty that has come down from the first
mother to the last daughter; it is as ineradicable in the sex as the
instinct which cherishes fire. Ollie was primitive in her passions and
pains. If she could not have Morgan, perhaps she could yet find a
comforter in Joe. She put her free hand on his shoulder and looked up
into his