"Do you know that you are ruining the life of the best woman that
ever lived?" he demanded, fiercely.
Barney looked at him, and suddenly there was a flash as of something
noble in his face.
"Look here, Thomas," he said, brokenly, in hoarse gasps. "Last night
I--went mad, almost, because--I thought--maybe you'd been to
see--her. I--saw you coming down the hill. I thought--I'd die
thinking of--you--with her. I can't tell you--what I've been through,
what I've suffered, and--what I suffer right along. I know I ain't to
be pitied. I know--there ain't any pity--anywhere for anything--like
this. I don't pity--myself. But it's awful. If you could get a sight
of it, you'd know."
Again to Thomas Payne, looking at the other, it was as if he saw a
pale agonized face staring up at him from the midst of a curved mass
of deformity. He shuddered.
"I don't know what to make of you, Barney Thayer," he said, looking
away.
"There's one thing--I want to say," Barney went on. "I think there's
enough of a man left in me--I--think I've got strength enough to say
it. She--ought to be happy. I don't want her--wasting her whole
life--God knows--I don't--no matter what it does--to me. I--wish--
See here, Thomas. I know you--like her. Maybe she'll--turn to you. It
seems as if she must. I hope you will--oh, for God's sake, be--good
to her, Thomas!"
Thomas Payne's face was as white as Barney's.
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