"
"Yes," said Van Dorn, giving her a cold look; "we might see the place
but for the woods. It is at a hill, a short mile from the Nanticoke."
"Tell Levin about it, captain."
"_Quedo, quedo!_ It would not be pleasant."
"Yes," said Hulda; "if it was true, I can hear it: I want Levin to hear
it, too, so that no deceit shall be between us."
Her smooth, moist hair, gray, humid eyes, complexion born between the
rose and dew, and straight, lithe figure, and air of dignity and truth,
impressed Van Dorn curiously:
"How bold you grow, wild-flower! Cannot you stoop to re-create me? I,
too, would live without deceit. But I will not tell you that story."
"You are afraid," spoke Hulda, feeling that nothing but this man and
three miles of level road separated her from the vengeance of Patty
Cannon, and that she must assert herself strongly over him.
"_Ya, ya!_ Are you not harsh? Remember, you may be whipped by your
grandma."
"No, you will whip me, or kill me, if it is to be done. You dare not
give me to her to punish."
"Dare not, again? Why?"
"Because you are my guardian. Between us is an instinct different from
love, but strong; I feel it. I lean towards you, but not on you. What is
it?"
"_O Dios!_" lisped Van Dorn, his blush suspended and his warm blue eyes
fascinated by her. "Is this a child or Echo?"
"Tell me of my father's crime. I want Levin to know the wretched thing
he has affection for.
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