Now she turned her accusing glance
on the loose-tongued girl.
"Because you are so small of soul yourself, are your eyes blinded to
the greater heights? Ma'amselle is lost in the clouds above you."
She went on, and Maren at the factory door turned to enter.
"Give the word,--and make all haste. Fix all things as you think best."
The great trading-room, lined with its shelves and circled with
counters, was empty, save for a clerk, Gifford, who cast accounts in
the big book on the factor's desk, and Maren's footsteps rang heavy to
her ears as she passed through it to the little room behind, where she
could see Rette passing back and forth at her tasks of mercy.
She stopped at the open door and looked within that little room. Here
were the things of McElroy's life,--the plain chairs, the table, the
shelf with its books, the chest against the western wall, and on the
bed, pulled out to get the breeze, lay the man himself prone in his
splendid strength.
The light from the setting sun was on his head with its fair hair and
flushed face, rolling restlessly from side to side. There was no reason
in the earnest blue eyes, and Maren felt a mighty anguish swell and
grip her throat as she stood looking on the pathetic scene.
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