A mile south of the Butterworth farmhouse the road to the county seat
crossed the crest of a hill, the highest point in the county, and from the
road there was a magnificent view of the country lying to the south. The
sky had begun to clear, and as they reached the point known as Lookout
Hill, the moon broke through a tangle of clouds. Clara stopped the horse
and turned to look down the hillside. Below lay the lights of her father's
farmhouse--where he had come as a young man and to which long ago he had
brought his bride. Far below the farmhouse a clustered mass of lights
outlined the swiftly growing town. The determination that had carried Clara
thus far wavered again and a lump came into her throat.
Hugh also turned to look but did not see the dark beauty of the country
wearing its night jewels of lights. The woman he wanted so passionately
and of whom he was so afraid had her face turned from him, and he dared to
look at her. He saw the sharp curve of her breasts and in the dim light
her cheeks seemed to glow with beauty. An odd notion came to him. In the
uncertain light her face seemed to move independent of her body. It drew
near him and then drew away. Once he thought the dimly seen white cheek
would touch his own. He waited breathless. A flame of desire ran through
his body.
Hugh's mind flew back through the years to his boyhood and young manhood.
In the river town when he was a boy the raftsmen and hangers-on of the
town's saloons, who had sometimes come to spend an afternoon on the river
banks with his father John McVey, often spoke of women and marriage.
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