Married! Yes, why should they not marry? It was for that he had saved Elisha Cole. He had known it from the night of the dance, had clearly foreseen it all, that morning he stopped at Rock Creek—facing the awakening world and his own conscience. He had struggled for resignation during his prison life, but never had he been able to think of Armindy sitting by Elisha Cole’s fireside—Elisha Cole’s wife—without the fiercest pang of jealous anguish. He sat down again, trembling with exhaustion, and bared his throbbing head to the cool breeze. He looked at his long, thin hands, stroked his face, feeling the hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes. He would never get back his youth and vigor again. It was well no woman loved him except his mother. She would not criticise his changed appearance, or care less for him on account of it. It was dusk when he reached the old Wood cabin. The shutters had not been drawn over the small, square window in the chimney-corner, and he crept across the yard to look into the room, himself unseen. A low fire burned on the hearth; he could smell the bread baking before it, and the smoke of frying bacon filled the room. Then he saw his mother sitting at the corner of the hearth knitting, while another woman stooped over the fire. Suddenly she stood erect, and he caught his breath sharply, for it was Armindy Hudgins, Elisha Cole’s wife, flushed, handsomer than ever. What did it mean? Had they taken his mother to live with them? He writhed at the thought. He leaned forward, for Armindy was speaking: "Now I’ll step to the spring for a pail o’ water; then we’ll have supper." "I wish Eph’um was here to eat it with us. Do you think he’ll ever come, Armindy?" she said wistfully. "I know he will," said Armindy, firmly; but a shadow fell upon her face, and Ephraim could see that she looked older, more serious, than in former days. But what a fine, elastic step she had! what supple curves in her figure! His eyes dwelt upon her with admiration, with despair. He loved her as deeply as ever. She stepped out of the room and went away to the spring. He followed her, determined to find out the cause of her presence in his mother’s house. He vividly remembered that other night when they stood at the spring together, and raised his eyes to Brandreth’s Peak, but the moon hung low in the west, a pale crescent, Armindy knelt by the spring, dipping up the water, when his shadow came between her and the faint moonlight. She glanced up, then sprang to her feet, half-frightened; the next moment she ran to him and fell weeping on his neck. "Eph’um! Eph’um! I said you’d come! I’ve always said you’d come!" He gathered her to him; then tried to push her away. "Don’t—I—where is ’Lishy?" he stammered. "I don’t know. What do you want to think o’ him for, now?" she cried, looking at him with wet eyes, drawing his face down to hers. "Ain’t you ’Lishy’s wife?" She fell back a little.