In a flash
of divination he saw that, if she persisted in her worry over David,
she would rouse in him an antagonism that would eventually drive him
from her. He spoke with irritation:
"Put him out of your mind. Don't worry about him. You can't do any
good, and it spoils our love."
After a pause, she said with a hesitating attempt at cajolery:
"Let me and Daddy John drive into the valley and try and get news of
him. We need supplies and we'll be gone only two or three days. We
can inquire at the Fort and maybe go on to Sacramento, and if he's been
there we'll hear of it. If we could only hear, just hear, he was safe,
it would be such a relief. It would take away this dreary feeling of
anxiety, and guilt too, Low. For I feel guilty when I think of how we
left him."
"Where was the guilt? You've no right to say that. You understood we
had to go. I could take no risks with you and the old man."
"Yes," she said, slowly, tempering her agreement with a self-soothing
reluctance, "but even so, it seemed terrible. I often tell myself we
couldn't have done anything else, but----"
Her voice dropped to silence and she sat staring out at the quiet
night, her head blurred with the filaments of loosened hair.
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