He went to the barn
and listened. He could hear her moving about preparing supper. As
he watched she came to the well for water and before she returned
to the cabin she stood looking over the fields as if trying to
locate him. Dannie's blood ran hotly and his pulses were leaping.
"Go to her! Go to her now!" demanded passion, struggling to break
leash. "You killed Jimmy! You murdered your friend!" cried
conscience, with unyielding insistence. Poor Dannie gave one last
glance at Mary, and then turned, and for the second time he ran
from her as if pursued by demons. But this time he went straight to
Five Mile Hill, and the grave of Jimmy Malone.
He sat down on it, and within a few feet of Jimmy's bones, Dannie
took his tired head in his hands, and tried to think, and for the
life of him, he could think but two things. That he had killed
Jimmy, and that to live longer without Mary would kill him. Hour
after hour he fought with his lifelong love for Jimmy and his
lifelong love for Mary. Night came on, the frost bit, the wind
chilled, and the little brown owls screeched among the gravestones,
and Dannie battled on. Morning came, the sun arose, and shone on
Dannie, sitting numb with drawn face and bleeding heart.
Mary prepared a fine supper the night before, and patiently waited,
and when Dannie did not come, she concluded that he had gone to
town, without knowing that she had returned. Tilly grew sleepy, so
she put the child to bed, and presently she went herself.
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