Then Hugh plucked her
away with a smothered oath. He put her into a chair, crushed her hand
in one of his, and turned upon Bella.
"Go back into the kitchen," he ordered brutally; "trapping's not your
business. You mind your cooking."
"Be careful, Hugh!" Bella's whisper whistled like a falling lash,
"I'll not stand that tone from you. Be careful!"
"Oh," pleaded Sylvie, "why do you all quarrel so? Off here by
yourselves with nobody else to care, I'd think you would just love
each other. I love you all--yes, I do, even you, Bella, though I know
you hate _me_. Bella, _why_ do you hate me? Why does it make you so
angry to have me here? Does it make your work so much harder? I'll
soon be better; I'm learning to feel my way about. I'll be able to
help you. I should think you'd be glad to have a girl in the
house--another woman. I'm sorry to be a nuisance, really I am. I'd
go if I could."
The lonely, deep silence, always waiting to fall upon them, shut down
with suddenness at the end of her sweet, tearful quaver of appeal.
For minutes no one spoke. Then Pete followed Bella out of the room.
She had not answered Sylvie's beseeching questions, but had only stood
with lowered head, her face working, her hands twisting her dress.
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