One Day At Arle | Page 2

bright,
the table was set tidily, and the meal upon it was good enough in its
way; but when the man entered he cast an unsteady, uncomprehending
glance around, and when he had flung himself into a chair he did not
attempt to touch the food, but dropped his face upon his arm on the
table with a sound like a little groan.
She must have heard it, but she did not notice it even by a turn of her
head, but stood erect and steadfast until he spoke to her. She might
have been waiting for his words--perhaps she was.
"Tha canst come in an' say what tha has to say an' be done wi' it," he

said at last, in a sullen, worn-out fashion.
She turned round then and faced him, harder to be met in her rigid
mood than if she had been a tempest.
"Tha knows what I ha' getten to say," she answered, her tone strained
and husky with repressed fierceness. "Aye! tha knows it well enough. I
ha' not much need to tell thee owt. He comn here this morning an' he
towd me aw I want to know about thee, Seth Lonas--an' more too."
"He comn to me," put in the man.
She advanced towards the table and struck it once with her hand.
"Tha'st towd me a power o' lies," she said. "Tha's lied to me fro' first to
last to serve thy own eends, an' tha'st gained 'em--tha'st lied me away
fro' th' man as wur aw th' world to me, but th' time's comn now when
thy day's o'er an' his is comn agen. Ah! thou bitter villain! Does ta mind
how tha comn an' towd me Dan Morgan had gone to th' fair at Lake wi'
that lass o' Barnegats? That wur a lie an' that wur th' beginnin'. Does ta
mind how tha towd me as he made light o' me when th' lads an' lasses
plagued him, an' threeped 'em down as he didna mean to marry no such
like lass as me--him as wur ready to dee fur me? That wur a lie an' that
wur th' eendin', as tha knew it would be, fur I spurned him fro' me th'
very next day, an' wouldna listen when he tried to straighten' out. But
he got at th' truth at last when he wur fur fro' here, an' he browt th' truth
back to me to-day, an' theer's th' eend fur thee--husband or no."
The man, lay with his head upon his arms until she had finished, and
then he looked up all white and shaken and blind.
"Wilt ta listen if I speak to thee?" he asked.
"Aye," she answered, "listen to more lies!"
And she slipped down into a sitting posture on the stone door-step, and
sat there, her great eyes staring out seaward, her hands lying loose upon
her knee, and trembling.

There was something more in her mood than resentment. In this simple
gesture she had broken down as she had never broken down in her life
before. There was passionate grief in her face, a wild sort of despair,
such as one might see in a suddenly-wounded, untamed creature. Hers
was not a fair nature. I am not telling the story of a gentle, true-souled
woman--I am simply relating the incidents of one bitter day whose
tragic close was the ending of a rough romance.
Her life had been a long battle against the world's scorn; she had been
either on the offensive or the defensive from childhood to womanhood,
and then she had caught one glimpse of light and warmth, clung to it
yearningly for one brief hour, and lost it.
Only to-day she had learned that she had lost it through treachery. She
had not dared to believe in her bliss, even during its fairest existence;
and so, when light-hearted, handsome Dan Morgan's rival had worked
against him with false stories and false proofs, her fierce pride had
caught at them, and her revenge had been swift and sharp. But it had
fallen back upon her own head now. This very morning handsome Dan
had come back again to Arle, and earned his revenge, too, though he
had only meant to clear himself when he told her what chance had
brought to light. He had come back--her lover, the man who had
conquered and sweetened her bitter nature as nothing else on earth had
power to do--he had come back and found her what she was--the wife
of a man for whom she had never cared, the wife of the man who had
played them both false, and robbed her of the one poor gleam of joy she
had known. She had been hard and wild enough at first, but just