Family life -- Fiction; Farm life -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction
"You Don't Know."
As Timothy Weeks limped hastily away, Holcroft, with a strong revulsion
of feeling, thought of Alida. HE had been able to answer insults in a
way eminently satisfactory to himself, and every blow had relieved his
electrical condition. But how about the poor woman who had received
worse blows than he had inflicted? As he hastened toward the house he
recalled a dim impression of seeing her sink down on the doorstep.
Then he remembered her effort to face the marauders alone. "She said
she was to blame, poor child! As if there were any blame at all! She
said, 'spare him,' as if I was facing a band of murderers instead of a
lot of neighborhood scamps, and that she'd go away. I'd fight all
Oakville--men, women, and children--before I'd permit that," and he
started on a run.
He found Alida on the step, where she had sunk as if struck down by the
rough epithets hurled at her. She was sobbing violently, almost
hysterically, and at first could not reply to his soothing words. He
lifted her up, and half carried her within to a chair. "Oh, oh," she
cried, "why did I not realize it more fully before? Selfish woman that
I was, to marry you and bring on you all this shame and danger. I
should have thought of it all, I ought to have died rather than do you
such a wrong."
"Alida, Alida," protested Holcroft, "if it were all to do over again,
I'd be a thousand times more--"
"Oh, I know, I know! You are brave and generous and honest. I saw
that much when you first spoke to me. I yielded to the temptation to
secure such a friend. I was too cowardly to face the world alone. And
now see what's happened! You're in danger and disgrace on my account.
I must go away--I must do what I should have done at first," and with
her face buried in her hands she rocked back and forth, overwhelmed by
the bitterness and reproach of her thoughts.
"Alida," he urged, "please be calm and sensible. Let me reason with
you and tell you the truth. All that's happened is that the Oakville
cubs have received a well-deserved whipping. When you get calm, I can
explain everything so it won't seem half so bad. Neither you nor I are
in any danger, and, as for your going away, look me in the eyes and
listen."
His words were almost stern in their earnestness. She raised her
streaming eyes to his face, then sprung up, exclaiming, "Oh! You're
wounded!"
"What's that, compared with your talk of going away?"
All explanations and reassurances would have been trivial in effect,
compared with the truth that he had been hurt in her defense. She
dashed her tears right and left, ran for a basin of water, and making
him take her chair, began washing away the blood stains.
"Thunder!" he said, laughing, "How quickly we've changed places!"
"Oh, oh!" she moaned, "It's a terrible wound; it might have killed you,
and they WILL kill you yet."
He took her hands and held them firmly. "Alida," he said, gravely yet
kindly, "be still and listen to me."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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