"Stay for my sake then, Marcia; just five days--I 'm as nigh ter you as
any in this world."
"Not so very, Cale."
Out of the numbness of my body, out of my bitterness of heart, out of
the depths of my misery, I spoke: "Cale, listen. For twenty-six years
I was in this world, and four men--the one people call my father, you,
my uncle-in-law who loved your wife, my mother's sister, Doctor Rugvie
who brought me into this world and made but two attempts to find me,
Mr. Ewart who as George Jackson brought me home in his arms, a baby
three days old, and left me for good and all, worse than orphaned--all
four of you, how much have you cared for me in reality? Answer me
that."
There was silence in the room. I heard Cale draw a heavy breath.
"You don't answer," I went on unmercifully, "and I am going away. I,
too, am going to 'cut loose'. I want you to go down to Mere
Guillardeau's and tell her Andre is dead, and the seignior will be here
in five days."
"What--now?" He moistened his lips.
"Yes, now."
"But you had n't ought ter be alone."
"I am not alone; the dogs are here and little Pete."
He rose and crossed the room. At the door he turned; his voice
trembled excessively, and I saw he was in fear.
"Promise me you won't do nothing rash, Marcia."