Finally she fell forward on her
face upon the bench, her hands spread abroad and hanging down, her face
on the hard cold wood--and all her moanings ceased. It seemed to me that
she had suddenly dropped dead; for I could not hear from her a single
sigh or gasp or breath, though I stepped closer and listened--not a sign
of life did she give. So I put my arm under her and raised her up, only
to see that her face was ghastly white, and that she seemed quite dead.
I picked her up, and found that, though she was slight and girlish, she
was more woman than child, and carried her over to the well where there
was cold water in the trough, from which I sprinkled a few icy drops in
her face--and she gasped and looked at me as if dazed.
"You fainted away," I said, "and I brought you to."
"I wish you hadn't!" she cried. "I wish you had let me die!"
"What's the matter, little girl?" I asked, seating her on the bench once
more. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Oh! oh! oh! oh!" she cried, maybe a dozen times--and nothing more,
until finally she burst out: "She was all I had in the world. My God,
what will become of me!" And she sprang up, and would have run off, I
believe, if Buckner Gowdy had not overtaken her, and coaxingly led her
back into the house.
* * * * *
We come now into a new state of things in the history of Vandemark
Township.
We meet not only the things that made it, but the actors in the play.
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