She gave him back his scrutiny without flinching,
and somehow, though she put him in the wrong, he had never loved her
better. Here was a comrade who could understand and influence him!
"Bank the fires, eh?" he growled. "Not put them out? I should suppose you
would have wanted them drowned out in a flood of tears of repentance for
letting them burn."
"No! You are you, and the fires are warming--when they are kept under
control. You're fighting the harder for your patient's life because the
fight's a hard one. But when you let the Devil fan the flame--"
He burst into a great, unexpected laugh and caught her to his breast
again. "That's what I'm doing, is it? That ever I should have lived to
hear you use a phrase like that! But it's a true one, I admit it. I've
let his Satanic Majesty have his own way with me, and bade him welcome,
too. I may again, when I get away from you. But--well--I know you're
right. I--I'll try to bank the fires, little wife. Only don't expect too
much."
"Red," said she,--and it was not at all the sort of rejoinder he might
have expected after his concession,--"why is there no woodpile now behind
the house?"
"Woodpile?" He was clearly puzzled. "Why, there's plenty of wood in the
cellar, you know, if you want fires. You can't be suffering for them,
this weather?"
"No, but I wish there were a woodpile there.
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