"His criminal mistake," Ruth repeated, wincing--"might not it become
changed into mercy, and the man be safe?"
"Safe? Perhaps. But he would tire of the pin-hole just the same. . . . My
dear, you do not know life."
"But, Mrs. Falchion," said the girl, now very bravely, "I know the crude
elements of justice. That is one plain thing taught here in the
mountains. We have swift reward and punishment--no hateful things called
Nemesis. The meanest wretch here in the West, if he has a quarrel,
avenges himself openly and at once. Actions are rough and ready, perhaps,
but that is our simple way. Hate is manly--and womanly too--when it is
open and brave. But when it haunts and shadows, it is not understood
here."
Mrs. Falchion sat during this speech, the fingers of one hand idly
drumming the arm of her chair, as idly as when on board the 'Fulvia' she
listened to me telling that story of Anson and his wife. Outwardly her
coolness was remarkable. But she was really admiring, and amazed at
Ruth's adroitness and courage. She appreciated fully the skilful duel
that had kept things on the surface, and had committed neither of them to
anything personal.
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