"Except what?" He asked quickly. "Never mind that now. Tell me, have you any idea who he was, or is?" "No, and nobody else thet I know of. She had high ideas, Happy had. I never believed she took up with any low cuss, not much! She was n't the kind to fall des'pritly in love with anybody like thet. Besides, had n't she had a man that was a man, even if he was only a boy in his years, to love the very ground she trod on? Happy was one of the uncommon kind of gals; she would n't take up with anyone thet come along. Now thet I know all this from you, I guess her love for thet man, whoever he was, or is, went 'bout as deep with her, as George's love for her went with him. Oh, Lord! It makes me sick to think of Happy Morey tryin' to throw herself inter the North River." "Then,"--I spoke slowly, hesitatingly; I gathered all my strength to ask the crucial question--"you don't think that Mr. Ewart is my father?" He stared at me as if I had taken leave of my senses. He swallowed hard twice. He leaned forward on the dining-room table, both fists pressed rigidly upon it. "Do _you_ think thet? Have you been thinkin' thet all this time, Marcia Farrell?" "No. I not only do not think it, I do not believe it. I was told so." "Who told you?" he demanded. He continued to stare at me; his attitude remained unchanged. "Doctor Rugvie." "What the devil does he know about it?" "He has the certificate--my mother's marriage certificate." "To which one?" "To my father." "An' he says Ewart is your father?" "He believes he is from the evidence--" "Evidence be damned. Has he shown you the name?" "No, I could n't--I would n't let him tell me." "I glory in your spunk, Marcia." "Then you do not believe it, Cale?" "Believe!" He spoke in utter scorn, and I laughed out almost hysterically; the tension was relieved too quickly. "Look here, Marcia Farrell, or whatever your name happens to be, he is no more your father than I am." He lifted both fists and brought them down on the table with the solidity of a stone-breaker's hammer. "It's God's truth, I am tellin' you." I laughed again in the face of this statement that so suddenly buttressed, as with adamant, my broken life, my wrecked hopes. "Can you prove it, Cale?" I, too, leaned across the table, my hands gripping the edge. "Prove it? Wal, I guess I ain't takin' any chances at jest _this_ cross roads. I ain't makin' any statements that I can't take my oath on." "Prove it, then, Cale--in mercy to me, prove it." He looked at me with inexpressible pity. His eyes filled. "You poor child! As if you had n't had enough, 'thout bein' murdered this way. What in thunder was the Doctor thinkin' of?" "He wanted to save me--" "Save you, eh? Wal, the next time he wants to save you he 'd better borrow the life-preserver from me. You can tell him thet." "Prove it, Cale." He drew a long breath and, reaching over, laid his right hand over mine.