Clergy -- Fiction; Love stories; Mistaken identity -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
"I've often heard of such a thing, Mrs. Halloran," responded Jessica.
Her heart was throbbing painfully. "But why does Smoky Mountain hate him
so? What has he done?"
Mrs. Halloran shook her head. "I never knew anything myself," she said
judiciously. "I reckon the town allus counted him just a general
low-down. The rest is only suspicion an' give the dog a bad name."
There had been comfort for Jessica in this interview. The burden of that
illness off her mind--she had not realized how great a load this had
been till it was lifted--she turned eagerly toward this rift in the
cloud of infamy that seemed to envelop the reputation of the man whose
life her own had again so strangely touched. She was feeling a new
kinship with the town; it was now not alone a spot upon which she had
loved to gaze from the height; it was the place wherein the man she had
once loved had lived and moved.
Mrs. Halloran's story had materially increased the poignant force of her
pity. What had seemed to her a vulgar brawl, had been in reality a
courageous and unselfish championship of a defenseless outcast. Thinking
of this, the self-blame and contrition which she had felt when she
listened to the violin assailed her anew, till she seemed a very part of
the guilt, an equal sinner by omission.
Yet she rode homeward that day with almost a light heart.
CHAPTER XXI
A VISIT AND A VIOLIN
Prendergast's first view had been one of suspicion, but this had been
shaken, and thereafter he had studied Harry with a sneering tolerance.
There had been little talk between them during the meal which the
younger man had cooked, taking the saucepan from the other's hands.
Shrinking acutely from the details of the dismal past which he must
learn, Harry had asked no questions and Prendergast had maintained a
morose silence. The latter had soon betaken himself down the
mountain--to his audience in the general store.
As Harry stood in the cabin doorway, looking after him, toward the town
glistening far below in the morning sunlight, he thought bitterly of his
reception there.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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