The Hills of Refuge: A NovelHarben, Will N. (Will Nathaniel)
General
The Hills of Refuge: A Novel
Harben, Will N. (Will Nathaniel)
Fiction
The rider drew in at the gate and dismounted, leading his horse into the
yard and up to the steps. "You must excuse me, little girl," he said. "I
couldn't make it earlier and get the news you wanted. The doctor was
making an examination and was delayed. Tobe fainted several times. He is
weak, the doctor says tell you, but there is still hope." Here catching
sight of Charles, he continued, gruffly: "Say, fellow, put up my horse.
And, say, give him a pail of water from the well and some shelled corn
and a bundle of fodder."
Starting in surprise, Charles was about to thunder out a furious reply;
to save himself from such a display of temper in the presence of a lady
he simply turned back into the sitting-room.
"Did he hear me?" he heard Frazier asking his host, in a rising tone of
anger.
"He was not hired for that sort of work, Albert," the old man said,
pacifically. "He has been in the field ever since sunup. Zilla takes
care of our own stock. Come, I'll go with you and show you the stall and
the feed."
Frazier swore aloud and muttered something about "tramp farm-hands"
which Charles could not catch; then he and Rowland led the horse to the
stable. Charles was standing in the center of the room when Mary came
in. She walked straight up to him and laid her hand on his arm.
"Don't let that bother you; please don't!" she urged, excitedly. "I
don't want you to have trouble with him. He is a dangerous sort of man.
If he takes a dislike to you he will do his best to injure you, and he
has it in his power to do all sorts of things, along with his brother as
an officer of the law."
"I understand. I have already heard a few things he has said about me,"
Charles replied, still furious, and yet trying to calm himself. "I know
the kind of man he is exactly. But you are in trouble, and I shall not
worry you in the matter. If he insults me again I'll try to overlook
it--I _will_ overlook it."
"Thank you," Mary said, gently and sweetly, in a voice which quivered
with curbed emotion, "but he mustn't do it again. I must talk to him. He
has no right to come here giving orders like that to people who have
been as kind and unselfish as you have been. Oh, I don't know what I am
to do, Mr. Brown! When he was telling about how weak Tobe Keith was my
very soul seemed to die in my body."
The room was dimly lighted by an oil-lamp on a table in the center of
the room. She stood facing him, her wondrous eyes filling with tears of
anxiety, her lips twitching, her brows knitted, her hands clasped over
her snowy apron.
"I don't know what to say to comfort you," said Charles. His voice shook
and he tried to steady it. "I am ashamed of myself for sinking so low as
to be angry with that man at such a time as this. You are stretched on
the rack, Miss Rowland, and you are being tortured. I wish I could take
your place--as God is my judge, I do! I can't bear the sight of it. It
is unfair, hellish, satanic! It must not go on like this."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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