"She beats every other woman holler," muttered the man to himself. "It's my belief that ef it worn't for that secret she'd love me. Yes, it must be true, she holds a secret, and it's a-killing of her. She ain't what she wor when we married. I'll get that secret out o' her; but not for no thousand pounds, 'andy as it 'ud be." "Hetty," he said suddenly. "What in the world is the matter with you, George? You look so moody," said Hetty. "Well, now, I may as well return the compliment," he replied, "so do you." "Oh, I'm all right," she answered, with a pert toss of her head. "Maybe, George," she continued, "you're bilious; you ate summat that disagreed wi' you last night." "Yes, I did," he replied fiercely. "I swallered a powerful lot o' jealousy, and it's bad food and hard to digest." "Jealousy?" she answered, bridling, and her cheeks growing a deep rose. "Now what should make you jealous?" "You make me jealous, my girl," he answered. "I! what in the world did I do?" "You talked to Squire--you wor mad to see 'im. Het, you've got a secret, and you may as well out wi' it." The imminence of the danger made Hetty quite cool and almost brave. She uttered a light laugh, and bent forward to help herself to some more butter. "You must be crazy to have thoughts o' that sort, George," she said. "Ain't I been your wife for five years, and isn't it likely that ef I had a secret you'd have discovered it, sharp feller as you are? No, I was pleased to see Squire. I was always fond o' 'im; and I ain't got no secret except the pain in my side." She turned very pale as she uttered the last words and pressed her hand to the neighborhood of her heart. Vincent was at once all tenderness and concern. "I'm a brute to worry yer, my little gell," he said. "Secret or no secret, you're all I 'as got. It's jest this way, Het, ef you'd love me a bit, I wouldn't mind ef you had fifty secrets, but it's the feelin' that you don't love me, mad as I be about you, that drives me stark, staring wild at times." "I'll try hard to love you ef you wish it, George," she said. He left his seat and came toward her. The next moment he had folded her in his arms. She shivered under his embrace, but submitted. "Now that's better," he said. "Tryin' means succeeding 'cording to my way o' thinking of it. But you don't look a bit well, Het; you change color too often--red one minute, white the next--you mustn't do no sort o' work this morning. You jest put your feet up this minute on the settle and I'll fetch that novel you're so took up with. You like readin', don't yer, lass?" "At times I do," said Hetty, "but I ain't in the mood to read to-day, and there's a heap to be done." "You're not to do it; Susan will manage." "George, she can't; she's got the dairy."