“The greengrocer’s house on Market Street, Medge, of course, would be a perfect paradise to me! I can imagine the back parlor full of the fragrance of onions, leeks and other garden stuff from the shop, and enlivened with the music of the bell every time a customer opened the door! Not any for me, please! I may go on the stage, or on the street—why should I care where I go, what I do, or how I end—after this—so that I enjoy the pride of life in my prime?” she demanded, looking at the plain, good man before her with a cruel, sarcastic sneer. He held out his arm to her, with a prayer in every look and gesture. He even ventured to lay his hand on her in tender compassion, but she broke away from him and resumed her wild walk. Then he sank into an armchair beside him—he could follow her no further—and dropped his head upon his hands. His wife Julia came to his side. She has longed to go to him while he was following and pleading with his daughter, and getting nothing from her but insult for love. She had longed to lead him away from the ungracious and unseemly strife with evil and to say to him: “Leave the thankless and reckless woman to herself to recover her senses, if she ever had any, and come with me and rest.” But—she was a stepmother only to the willful girl, and she must not interfere between father and daughter. But now that he sat alone in the collapse of despair after fruitless effort, bowed down, down with sorrow and wounded affection, she came to him, put her hand on his shoulder, laid her cheek lightly on his gray head and murmured words of comfort. “You have been very, very patient with her, dear, and you were so right! She has had a terrible blow to her pride, such as even the best of women could not bear with patience. How then should she?” “Cruel words from one’s child, my dear! Cruel words!” said the suffering father, shaking his head without lifting it. “She was crazed by grief and shame. She did not mean what she said. She did not even know what she said—did not know it rightly, I mean! When she comes to her senses, John, she will be more sorry and ashamed of her conduct to you than she is now of her downfall, and she will be grateful for your love and Christ-like patience with her. Her present mood is hysteria—frenzy! Give her time!” “She threatened to go on the stage or on the street!” exclaimed John, uttering the last three words with a deep groan. “She does rave worse than any other hysterical woman I ever heard, to be sure, for, as a rule, they only threaten to ‘go mad’ or to ‘kill’; but it is all raving! there’s nothing in it! You have been very patient and forbearing with your willful and provoking girl in this time of her suffering and excitement. Continue to be so, and you will have your reward in her penitence and affection. Believe it, dear.”