She
knew it was not David that spoke, but a usurping spirit born of evil
days. The other men pricked their ears and listened, but she was
indifferent to their watch, and tried again to take his hand, saying,
pleadingly:
"Sit down. When I get your supper you'll be better. I'll have it
ready in a few minutes."
This time he threw her hand off with violence. His face, under its
dust mask, flamed with the anger that had been accumulating through the
day.
"Let me alone," he cried, his voice strangled like a wrathful child's.
"I don't want anything to do with you. Eat your supper. When I'm
ready I'll get mine without any help from you. Let me be."
He turned from her, and moving over the blanket, stumbled on its folds.
The jar was the breaking touch to his overwrought nerves. He
staggered, caught his breath with a hiccoughing gasp, and dropping his
face into his hands burst into hysterical tears. Then in a sudden
abandonment of misery he threw himself on the blanket, buried his head
in his folded arms and rending sobs broke from him. For a moment they
were absolutely still, staring at him in stupefied surprise.
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