Could he remember
Jimmy's dreadful death, realize that he was responsible for it,
and make love to his wife? No, she was sacred to Jimmy. Could he
live beside her, and lose her to another man for the second time?
No, she belonged to him. It was almost daybreak when Dannie
remembered the fresh bed, and lay down for a few hours' rest.
But there was no rest for Dannie, and after tossing about until
dawn he began his work. When he carried the milk into the cabin,
and smelled the biscuit, he fulfilled Mary's prophecy, got glad
again, and came to breakfast. Then he went about his work. But as
the day wore on, he repeatedly heard the voice of the woman and
the child, combining in a chorus of laughter. From the little
front porch, the green bird warbled and trilled. Neighbors who
had heard of her return came up the lane to welcome a happy Mary
Malone. The dead dreariness of winter melted before the spring
sun, and in Dannie's veins the warm blood swept up, as the sap
flooded the trees, and in spite of himself he grew gladder and
yet gladder.
He now knew how he had missed Mary. How he had loathed that
empty, silent cabin. How remorse and heart hunger had gnawed at
his vitals, and he decided that he would go on just as Mary had
said, and let things drift; and when she was ready to have the
talk with him she had mentioned, he would hear what she had to
say.
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