“I am not. I’ve always something in me, gnawing at my heart.” “Swallowed a crab, I reckon, without having him b’iled first.” “It’s not that, Ciss. You know well it is not that. If one can’t get now what will make a fellow happy, it’s best to go, sez I.” “You’ll get lots, lots over there,” said she, and pointed with the knife towards the sea, America, the bed of the setting sun. “I don’t want lots—only one.” “May you find that one. I hope you will.” “Do you?” with a flash of happiness. “Yes—in America.” He hung his head. “I suppose,” said Will, “that I shall be forgotten when I am far away.” “Those who go far away must reckon on that,” was her answer. “Psha!” she had cut her finger. She quickly put a bit of potato rind over the wound lest Will should observe it. But indeed, he was looking on the floor and saw nothing. “And, Ciss, you have nothing more to say to me?” “Of course I have—Good-bye!” He looked up, took a step nearer to her, gazed steadily into her face: “Cicely, do you mean it—in this way to say good-bye to one you have known all these years? It is not a light matter to cross the ocean and go to the States. Who can tell what may happen there? Some find there good luck, others, wretchedness and ruin. To go there and do well a chap must take a good heart with him. I cannot do that. I shall bear but a heartache with me, and have no hope whatever I do. Come, Ciss—what do you say?” “The parson don’t like any one coming in late for church. You’d best be off—smart.” He raised himself to his full height. The angry blood flew to his face and darkened it, fire leaped from his eyes. I had never seen Will Swan like that before. “No—Ciss—no,” he said, and he spoke hoarsely; “I will not cross the water. No, that would content you. Who can say—if things went contrary here—you might be willing to come across to me there?” “If——” “Yes—who can say? But I will go where there is no passage across. I will break down every bridge between us. This has been going on too long—from one year to another—and I can bear it no further. I will get married to some other wench, some one who will give a chap a good word; who, when one leaves only for a day will say a good-bye, and her eyes will fill with tears. She may never be to me all that you have been and are, but she will be to me what it is not in your nature to be—kind and gracious.” “Oh, that—that is it!” exclaimed Cicely. I could see, through my peephole, how flames passed through her face and then that she became deadly white. I could see how her bosom heaved, how her hands trembled as she tried to continue with the potatoes, but was unable to do anything because of her wounded finger. Suddenly she took up the pan, thrust past Will, and threw the contents into the pig-pail. “You have made me spoil all,” she said, and burst into tears. “Crying! What for?” “That is it. You have already lost your heart to some other girl, and now you come to say——”