Indian, Mexican, American were all the same to her
in trouble or illness; and then she was nurse, doctor, peacemaker,
helper. She was good and noble, and there was not a child or
grownup in Forlorn River who did not love and bless her. But Mrs.
Belding did not seem happy. She was brooding, intense, deep,
strong, eager for the happiness and welfare of others; and she
was dominated by a worship of her daughter that was as strange
as it was pathetic. Mrs. Belding seldom smiled, and never laughed.
There was always a soft, sad, hurt look in her eyes. Gale often
wondered if there had been other tragedy in her life than the
supposed loss of her father in the desert. Perhaps it
was the very unsolved nature of that loss which made it haunting.
Mrs. Belding heard Dick's step as he entered the kitchen, and,
looking up, greeted him.
"Mother," began Dick, earnestly. Belding called her that, and so
did Ladd and Lash, but it was the first time for Dick. "Mother
--I want to speak to you."
The only indication Mrs. Belding gave of being started was in her
eyes, which darkened, shadowed with multiplying thought.
"I love Nell," went on Dick, simply, "and I want you to let me ask
her to be my wife."
Mrs. Belding's face blanched to a deathly white. Gale, thinking
with surprise and concern that she was going to faint, moved
quickly toward her, took her arm.
"Forgive me. I was blunt....But I thought you knew."
"I've known for a long time," replied Mrs.
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