The Heart of the Desert | Page 4

thin
hands in both his own.
"Rhoda, don't!" he pleaded huskily. "Don't give up! Don't lose hope! If
I could only give you some of my strength! Don't talk so! It just about
breaks my heart to hear you."
For a time, Rhoda did not answer. She lay wearily watching the eager,
pleading face so close to her own. Even in her illness, Rhoda was very
lovely. The burnished yellow hair softened the thinness of the face that
was like delicately chiseled marble. The finely cut nose, the exquisite
drooping mouth, the little square chin with its cleft, and the great gray
eyes lost none of their beauty through her weakness.
"John," she said at last, "why won't you look the truth in the face? I
never shall get well. I shall die here instead of in New York, that's all.
Why did you follow me down here? It only tortures you. And, truly it's

not so bad for me. You all have lost your realness to me, somehow. I
shan't mind going, much."
DeWitt's strong face worked but his voice was steady.
"I never shall leave you," he said simply. "You are the one woman in
the world for me. I'd marry you tomorrow if you'd let me."
Rhoda shook her head.
"You ought to go away, John, and forget me. You ought to go marry
some fine girl and have a home and a family. I'm just a sick wreck."
"Rhoda," and DeWitt's earnest voice was convincing, "Rhoda, I'd pass
up the healthiest, finest girl on earth for you, just sick you. Why, can't
you see that your helplessness and dependence only deepen your hold
on me? Who wants a thing as fragile and as lovely as you are to make a
home! You pay your way in life just by living! Beauty and sweetness
like yours is enough for a woman to give. I don't want you to do a thing
in the world. Just give yourself to me and let me take care of you.
Rhoda, dear, dear heart!"
"I can't marry unless I'm well," insisted Rhoda, "and I never shall be
well again. I know that you all thought it was for the best, bringing me
down to the desert, but just as soon as I can manage it without hurting
Katherine's and Jack's feelings too much, I'm going back to New York.
If you only knew how the big emptiness of this desert country adds to
my depression!"
"If you go back to New York," persisted DeWitt, "you are going back
as my wife. I'm sick of seeing you dependent on hired care. Why,
Rhoda dear, is it nothing to you that, when you haven't a near relative
in the world, I would gladly die for you?"
"Oh!" cried the girl, tears of weakness and pity in her eyes, "you know
that it means everything to me! But I can't marry any one. All I want is
just to crawl away and die in peace. I wish that that Indian hadn't come
upon me so promptly. I'd just have gone to sleep and never wakened."

"Don't! Don't!" cried DeWitt. "I shall pick you up and hold you against
all the world, if you say that!"
"Hush!" whispered Rhoda, but her smile was very tender. "Some one is
coming through the orchard."
DeWitt reluctantly released the slender hands and leaned back in his
chair. The sun had crossed the peach orchard slowly, breathlessly. It
cast long, slanting shadows along the beautiful alfalfa fields and turned
the willows by the irrigating ditch to a rosy gray. As the sun sank,
song-birds piped and lizards scuttled along the porch rail. The loveliest
part of the New Mexican day had come.
The two young Northerners watched the man who was swinging
through the orchard. It was Cartwell. Despite his breadth of shoulder,
the young Indian looked slender, though it was evident that only
panther strength could produce such panther grace. He crossed the lawn
and stood at the foot of the steps; one hand crushed his soft hat against
his hip, and the sun turned his close-cropped black hair to blue bronze.
For an instant none of the three spoke. It was as if each felt the import
of this meeting which was to be continued through such strange
vicissitudes. Cartwell, however, was not looking at DeWitt but at
Rhoda, and she returned his gaze, surprised at the beauty of his face,
with its large, long-lashed, Mohave eyes that were set well apart and set
deeply as are the eyes of those whose ancestors have lived much in the
open glare of the sun; with the straight, thin-nostriled nose; with the
stern, cleanly modeled mouth and the square chin, below. And looking
into the young Indian's deep black eyes, Rhoda