For the Major's hand was not steady at the
rod, and he had often regretted a weakness of heart which interfered with
a physical interpretation of the wisdom of Solomon. "If you get your
deserts, you'd get fifty lashes," was his habitual reproof to his servants,
though, as a matter of fact, he had never been known to order one. His
anger was sometimes of the kind that appalls, but it usually vented itself
in a heightened redness of face or a single thundering oath; and a woman's
sob would melt his stoniest mood. It was only because his daughter had kept
out of his sight that he had never forgiven her, people said; but there
was, perhaps, something characteristic in the proof that he was most
relentless where he had most loved.
As for Dan's chastisement, he had struck him twice across the shoulders,
and when the boy had turned to him with the bitter smile which was Jane
Lightfoot's own, the Major had choked in his wrath, and, a moment later,
flung the whip aside. "I'll be damned,--I beg your pardon, sir,--I'll be
ashamed of myself if I give you another lick," he said. "You are a
gentleman, and I shall trust you."
He held out his hand, but he had not counted on the Montjoy blood. The boy
looked at him and stubbornly shook his head. "I can't shake hands yet
because I am hating you just now," he answered. "Will you wait awhile,
sir?" and the Major choked again, half in awe, half in amusement.
"You don't bear malice, I reckon?" he ventured cautiously.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67