"She is my mother--you shan't touch my mother!" she cried, flashing angry glances at him through her tears. Thrasher looked upon the child with mingled hate and fear. It was wonderful how much power those deep blue eyes, sparkling with a thousand childish emotions, possessed over the strong man. There was something spirituelle in her loveliness that impressed him, as if an angel had been reading the record of his life, and rebuked him with those violet eyes.
Thrasher arose hesitating, and almost timidly; he stood expecting Mrs. Mason to notice the movement; but she was occupied with her grief, and did not observe him.
"Mother," said little Rose, smiling through her tears, "look up, mother; the man who makes you cry is going away."
Mrs. Mason wiped her eyes, and strove to appear interested.
"Hush, Rose, hush, he has been very kind to come with this sorrowful news."
"Yes, mother, he's going right off, so don't cry any more."
Mrs. Mason reached forth her hand; she was a tall, fine woman, with bright eyes, that tears only softened; these eyes full of touching sorrow were lifted to his. All that was good in the man's nature arose in response to this look. His hand trembled as it grasped hers. He could have fallen on his knees and wept over it, so great was the power of love in a nature that had little else to soften it. But the eyes of the child followed his movements vigilantly, and he dropped the mother's hand with a deeply drawn breath.
"Give the gentleman a kiss, my little Rose," whispered the mother, touched by his humble demeanor.
Rose turned her face squarely upon him and lifted her eyes. He met their clear glance and dared not kiss her.
"Good-by," he said, standing before them uneasily.
"When you are better--when you are a little reconciled, Ellen, may I come again?"
"No, no," shouted Rose, waving her hand, "no, no, no."
"Be still, Rose, this is naughty. Remember he was your father's friend."
Rose hid her face and began to cry. Thrasher took the mother's hand again, dropped it, and went away, softened and almost remorseful.
A footpath intersected the highway some few rods below Mrs. Mason's cottage, and ran off among the hills that lay behind Castle Rock. At this point, Thrasher paused. He had only reached town that day, and his first visit had been to the white cottage. Now, he thought of his parents, who lived on a farm among those hills, and of another person whose home he must pass in going there.
