In front walked a big, hardened-looking man, in the prime of
life; behind him came a child, a slim, wonderfully fair girl of about ten
years, lithe and graceful, with large, expressive dark eyes. After her came
a woman prematurely old, her face lined and seamed in every direction.
Just after they passed us, the little girl and woman stopped; and the child
bent low to the earth and caressed her mother's feet. Then she flung
herself into her mother's arms and clung to her, while the big, beautiful
eyes filled with tears. The mother embraced her lovingly; then she tried to
thrust her away from her, her own tears running down her face all the time.
The child clung piteously, with a yearning love in her eyes. Then she
glanced toward that hardened figure still continuing its way, and, O, the
awful look of terror on that sweet face! It is that look which continues to
haunt me, the look of sweet, yearning love giving place to that awful
terror. Then terror overcame, and the child sped swiftly and silently after
that man, ever and anon turning back for one more gaze at her heartbroken
mother.
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