“He was, and you know he was. Yes, and worse besides. Runnin' off and leavin' a wife like you to--Oh, my God! when I think I might have been your husband to look out for you and take care of you! That you might have been with me on board my ships. That, when I come down the companion on stormy nights I might have found you there to comfort me and--O Keziah! we aren't young any more. What's the use of foolin'? I want you. I'm goin' to have you. Coffin is dead these ten years. When I heard he was drowned off there in Singapore, all I could say was: 'Serve him right!' And I say it now. I come home then more determined to get you. Say yes, and let's be happy. Do!” “I can't, Nat.” “Why not? For Heaven sakes! why not? Don't you care for me? You've let me think--well, at any rate, I have thought you did. You used to. Don't you?” “Nat, I--I care for you more than anybody else on earth. But I can't marry you. Oh, don't keep askin' it! Please don't. I can't marry you, Nat. No!” “Well, not now, maybe. Not this month, or even this year, perhaps, but some day--” “No, Nat. You must listen. There's no use of this goin' on any longer. I mean it. I can't marry you.” “You won't, you mean.” “Well, if you wish to think so. Then I won't.” “But by and by--” “No, not by and by. Never, Nat. Never.” He drew his hand across his forehead. “Never!” he repeated, more to himself than to her. “Never. Yes, Nat.” “Then, by the everlastin'! I'll do somethin'--” “No, no, you won't. Nat Hammond, I know you. You're a great big, brave-hearted, sensible man. You won't be foolish. You'll do--yes, I think you'd better do just what your father asks you to do. Marry Grace, if she wants you and will have you. She'll make you a good wife; you'll learn to care for her, and I know she'll have the best husband that a girl could hope for. And you and I will be friends, just as we've always been, and--” “Keziah, stop that! Stop it, do you hear! I don't want to listen to such stuff. I tell you I'm past soft soap, and I didn't think you'd give it to me.” “Nat!” “Oh, yes, 'Nat'! A lot you care for 'Nat'! Not a reason on God's footstool why you won't have me--except one, and that one that you don't want me.” “Please, Nat! I can hardly believe this is you. This trouble with your father has upset you. You don't mean what you say. You're not talkin' like yourself and--” “Stop it, I tell you. I don't feel like myself. I banked on you, Keziah. I've lived for you. And now--O Keziah, take it back! Give me a little hope, just enough to keep my head above water.” “I'd like to, Nat. I only wish I could. But 'twouldn't be any use. I can't do it.” He snatched his hat from the table and strode to the door. Turning, he looked at her. “All right,” he said chokingly. “All right. Good-by.” His steps sounded on the oilcloth of the kitchen. Then the back door slammed. He was gone.