An involuntary note of wistfulness in the last words softened the look in Jake’s eyes. He even smiled a little as he said: "Bunny being the only person in the world for whom you entertain the smallest spark of affection?"
She looked at him quickly. "He is all that I have," she said, in a low tone of protest.
"That so?" said Jake deliberately. "Well,--I’m sorry."
She felt the flush deepen to crimson in her face, and she quickened her steps as they neared the house, longing to put an end to an encounter that had brought her nothing but discomfiture.
Jake lengthened his stride. He looked no longer at her, but straight ahead with the eyes of a man who reads the future. Evidently the prospect was a pleasing one, for the faint smile still lingered about his lips. She was thankful that he had not observed that painful blush of hers.
At the door of his house he paused and stood back for her to precede him; and so standing, suddenly and softly he gave utterance to the thought in his mind.
"Say, Maud," he said into her ear, "some day--when the boy is well and off your hands--I’d just enjoy to see you with a child of your own in your arms."
She started away from the whispered words, started and quivered like a wild thing trapped. For a single instant her eyes met his in open, passionate revolt; then swiftly she passed him by.
Jake followed with his lips pursed to a whistle, and a certain hard glitter replacing the dream in his eyes.
Someone was whistling in the stable-yard with elaborate turns and trills to the accompaniment of a horse’s hoofs that danced upon the stones.
It was Christmas Day, and from the church half-way down the hill there came the gay peal of bells. The stable-doors were all closed, and the yard was in perfect order. There was no one about besides the solitary whistler on horseback; and he, it seemed, had no intention of prolonging his solitude, for he was heading his horse straight for the spotless white gate that led to Jake Bolton’s dwelling.
He was a young man, with a swarthy face of undeniable ugliness that yet possessed a monkeyish fascination that was all its own. His eyes laughed out of it with a merry wickedness--odd eyes, one black, one grey, that gave a most fantastic expression to his whole countenance. They were not trustworthy eyes, but they were full of humour. He had a comedian’s trick of working the brows above them so that his features were scarcely ever in repose.