A larger
matter than mortification held him in its solemn grip. On his way
home, in the chill October twilights, he usually stopped at Mr.
Benjamin Wright's. But he never drew rein at the green gate in the
hedge; as he was passing it the night that Pryor arrived, he had to
turn aside to let the stage draw up. A man clambered out, and in the
dull flash of the stage lanterns, William saw his face.
"Lloyd?" some one said, in a low voice; it was Mrs. Richie, waiting
for him inside the gate. William King's face quivered in the darkness.
"That you, Nelly?" Mr. Pryor said;--"no, no; I'll carry my own bag,
thank you. Did a hamper come down on the morning stage? Good! We'll
have something to eat. I hope you haven't got a sick cook this time.
Well, how are you?"
He kissed her, and put his arm around her; then withdrew it, reminding
himself not to be a fool. Yet she was alluring! If only she would be
sensible, there was no reason why things should not be as pleasant as
ever. If she obliged him to pay the piper, Lloyd Pryor was coldly
aware that things would never be pleasant again.
"So many dreadful things have happened!" she burst out; but checked
herself and asked about his journey; "and--and Alice?"
"Oh, pleasant enough, rather chilly. She's well, thank you." And then
they were at the door, and in the bustle of coming in, and taking off
his coat, and saying "Hullo, David! Where's your sling?" disagreeable
topics were postponed.
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