It barely served to make the shadowy outlines of
the house visible, the heavy arches, roughly sketched doorways, and
hinted at the forms of the cowpunchers who were ranged under the far
arcade for their after-dinner smoke, all eagerly listening to the
dialogue between the mistress and the foreman. When a breath of wind
made the flame jump in the lantern chimney a row of grinning faces
stood out from the shadow.
Marianne sat in a deep chair which made her appear girlishly slight.
The glow of the reading lamp on the table beside her fell on her hair,
cast a highlight on her cheek, and showed her hand lying on the open
book in her lap, palm up. There was something about that hand which
spoke to Perris of helpless surrender, something more in the gloomy
eyes which looked up to the foreman where he leaned against a pillar.
The voice drawled calmly to an end: "And that's what he is, this gent
you got to finish what me and the rest started. Here he is to tell you
that I've spoke the truth."
With the uncanny Western keenness of vision, Hervey had caught sight
of the approaching Perris from the corner of his eye. He turned now
and welcomed the hunter with a wave of his hand.
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