Cummins' wife was to him like a flower suddenly come to
relieve the tantalizing barrenness of a desert, and with the wiles and
soft speech of his kind he sought to breathe its fragrance. In the weeks
that followed the flower seemed to come nearer to him, and this was
because Jan and his people had not as yet fully measured the heart of the
woman, and because the Englishman had not measured Jan and his people he
talked a great deal when enthused by the warmth of the box stove and his
thoughts. So human passions were set at play. Because the woman knew
nothing of what was said about the box stove she continued in the even
course of her pure life, neither resisting nor encouraging the newcomer,
yet ever tempting him with that sweetness which she gave to all alike,
and still praying in the still hours of night that Cummins would return
to her. As yet there was no suspicion in her soul. She accepted the
Englishman's friendship. His sympathy for her won him a place in her
recognition of things good and true. She did not hear the false note, she
saw no step that promised evil. Only Jan and his people saw and
understood the one-sided struggle, and shivered at the monstrous evil of
it. At least they thought they saw and understood, which was enough. Like
so many faithful beasts they were ready to spring, to rend flesh, to tear
life out of him who threatened the desecration of all that was good and
pure and beautiful to them, and yet, dumb in their devotion and faith,
they waited and watched for a sign from the woman.
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