Page:Frank Owen - Woman Without Love (1949 reprint).djvu/52

  in that awful stillness. She openly sneered at him as he towered over her, shaking with rage.

In despair he struck out with the open palm of his hand, catching her flush on the mouth and sending her in a heap to the floor. Dazed, she rose to her feet. Blood was trickling from her lips but she was smiling. She felt no resentment for the blow, only interest. She liked him best when he was like an animal. In a moment, his mood changed. He sank down in a chair and started to sob. His great bulk shook with grief.

"Mary, forgive me," he implored.

"For Christ's sake, don't be weak!" she said. "I hate a man that grovels. I'm not angry. You have been a fool, but mentally you are still a child. I do not war with children."

For a while he continued to sob. It was more than she could tolerate. She went upstairs and bathed her bleeding lips. Then she stretched out upon the bed. At last Yekial Meigs came up the stairs. He entered the room like a whipped dog. "Can you forgive me?" he begged.

She laughed wantonly.

"What does it matter?" she asked.

He gathered her in his arms. For the rest of that day Mary Blaine had no cause for complaint. She was no longer lonesome.

was Spring. One morning it seemed as though the entire country had burst into bloom. The grass was a green velvet carpet. The trees had commenced to bud. The air was fragrant and balmy, filled with the breath of new-turned soil. In the treetops, birds flew about excitedly, singing lustily. They wanted everyone to know how pleasant the future looked.

Mary sighed with relief. She scarcely knew how she had stood that long lonesome Winter. Either the wind shrieked in discord or the silence was unendurable. She had felt that the Winter bore down upon her like doom, stunting her life. It endeavored