"No."
"Don't ye want to leave the key with some o' the neighbors?"
"I don't want anything in the world but you," owned Amelia shamelessly.
Enoch bent suddenly, and drew her to her feet. "'Melia," said he, "you
look up here."
She raised her drawn face and looked at him, not because she wished,
but because she must. In her abasement, there was no obedience which
she would deny him. But she could only see that he was strangely happy,
and so the more removed from her own despair. Enoch swiftly passed his
arm about her, and turned her homeward. He laughed a little. Being a
man, he must laugh when, that bitter ache in the throat presaged more
bitter tears.
"Come, 'Melia," said he, "come along home, an' I'll tell you all about
the cows. I made a real good bargain. Come, Rosie."
Amelia could not answer. It seemed to her as if love had dealt with her
as she had not deserved; and she went on, exalted, afraid of breaking
the moment, and knowing only that he was hers again. But just before
they left the shadow of the woods, he stopped, holding her still, and
their hearts beat together.
"'Melia," said he brokenly, "I guess I never told you in so many words,
but it's the truth: if God Almighty was to make me a woman, I'd have
her you, not a hair altered.
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