So she rose, and passed Dan without a word, and went
slowly towards the house. She tried to hurry,
indeed, but her legs would not quicken their pace.
Yet at length she had reached shelter and no sooner
was she past the door of the house than her knees
buckled; she had to steady herself with both hands
as she dragged herself up the stairs to her room.
There, from the window, she looked down and saw Whistling
Dan standing as she had left him, staring blankly
at the wolf-dog.
THE CONQUEST
There was no star-storming confidence in Kate Cumberland
after that first victory. Rather she felt as
the general who deploys his skirmishers and drives
in the outposts of an enemy. The advantage is
his, but it has really only served to give him some
intimation of the strength of the enemy. At the
supper table this night she found Whistling Dan watching
her—not openly, for she could never catch
his eye—but subtly, secretly, she knew
that he was measuring her, studying her; whether in
hostility, amity, or mere wonder, she could not tell.
Finally a vast uneasiness overtook her and she turned
to the doctor for relief. Doctor Randall Byrne
held a singular position in the attention of Kate.
Since the night of the fire and her open talk with
him, the doctor knew “everything,” and
women are troubled in the presence of a man who knows
the details of the past.
The shield behind which they hide in social intercourse
is a touch of mystery—or at least a hope
of mystery. The doctor, however, was not like
other men; he was more similar to a precocious child
and she comforted herself in his obvious talent for
silence. If he had been alert, strong, self-confident,
she might have hated him because he knew so much about
her; but when she noted the pale, thoughtful face,
the vast forehead outbalancing the other features,
and the wistful, uncertain eyes, she felt nothing
towards him stronger than pity.
It is good for a woman to have something which she
may pity, a child, an aged parent, or a house-dog.
It provides, in a way, the background against which
she acts; so Kate, when in doubt, turned to the doctor,
as on this night. There was a certain cruelty
in it, for when she smiled at him the poor doctor
became crimson, and when she talked to him his answers
stumbled on his tongue; and when she was silent and
merely looked at him that was worst of all, for he
became unable to manage knife and fork and would sit
crumbling bread and looking frightened. Then
he was apt to draw out his glasses and make a move
to place them on his nose, but he always caught and
checked himself in time—which added to
his embarrassment.
