Marg stood and watched her with baffled rage and hate.  For a moment she almost decided to take her chances and seek Burke Lawson in the distant Hollow.  But night was coming—­the black, drear night of the low places.  Marg was desperate, but a primitive conservatism held her.  Not for all she hoped to gain would she brave Burke Lawson alone in the secret places of Devil-may-come Hollow!  So she followed after Nella-Rose and reached home while her sister was preparing the evening meal.

Peter Greyson, the father, sat huddled in a big chair by the fire.  He had arrived at that stage of returning consciousness when he felt that it was incumbent upon him to explain himself.  He had been a handsome man, of the dashing cavalry type and he still bore traces of past glory.  In his worst moments he never swore before ladies, and in his best he remembered what was due them and upheld their honour and position with fervour.

“Lil’ Nella-Rose,” he was saying as Marg paused outside the door in the dark, “why don’t you marry Burke Lawson and settle down here with me?”

“He hasn’t asked me, father.”

“He isn’t in any position now to pick and choose”—­this between hiccoughs and yawns—­“I saw him early this morning; I know his back anywhere.  I’d just met old Jim White.  I reckon Burke was calculating to shoot Jim, but my coming upset his plans.  Shooting a sheriff ain’t safe business.”  What Greyson really had seen was Truedale’s retreat after parting company with Jim, but not knowing of Truedale’s existence he jumped to the conclusion which to his fuddled wits seemed probable, and had so informed Marg upon his return.

“I tell yo’, Nella-Rose,” he ran on, “yo’ better marry Burke and tame him.  There ain’t nothing as tames a man like layin’ responsibilities on him.”

“Come, father, let me help you to the table.  I don’t want to talk about Burke.  I don’t believe he’s back.”  She steadied the rolling form to the head of the table.

“I tell yo’, chile, I saw Burke’s back; don’t yo’ reckon I know Lawson when I see him, back or front?  Don’t yo’ want ter marry Lawson, Nella-Rose?”

“No, I wouldn’t have him if he asked me.  It would be like marrying a tree that the freshet was rolling about.  I’m not going to seek and hide with any man.”

“Why don’t yo’ let Marg have ’im then?  She’d be a right smart responsibility.”

“She can have him and welcome, if she can find him!” Then, hearing her sister outside, she called: 

“Come in, Marg.  Shut out the cold and the dark.  What’s the use of acting like a little old hateful?”

Marg slouched in; there was no other word to describe her indifferent and contemptuous air.

“He’s coming around?” she asked, nodding at her father.

“Yes—­he’s come,” Nella-Rose admitted.

“All right, then, I’m going to tell him something!” She walked over to her father and stood before him, looking him steadily in the eyes.