The poor woman sat like one in a stupor, comprehending little of what he said. The room seemed to be revolving. The earth had given way beneath her feet and the heavens were opening. Her first sensation was one of terror. She feared a man of such power--a man who could in a single moment, by a wave of his hand, upset her entire world. His enormous wealth dazzled her even while she doubted it. How could it be true while he sat there talking to her--and she in her apron and her hair in disorder? She rose hurriedly with instinct to make herself presentable enough to carry on this conversation. As she stood weakly, she apologized incoherently. "Captain, I appreciate your kindness--you've always been a good customer--one I liked to do for--but I'm all upset--I can't get my wits--" "No hurry, madam," he said, with a generous intent. "To-morrow is coming. Don't hurry at all--at all." She hurried out, leaving him alone--with the clock, the cat, and the hostler, who was spraying the sidewalk under the cotton-wood-trees. Quivering with fear of the girl's refusal, the gambler rose and went out into the sunsmit streets to commune with this new-found self. Life was no longer simple for Mrs. Gilman. It was, indeed, filled with a wind of terror. Haney's promise of relief from want was very sweet, yet disturbingly empty, like the joy of dreams, and yet his words took her breath--clouded her judgment, befogged her insight. She went back to the dining-room, where her daughter sat eating dinner, with a numbness in her limbs and a sense of dizziness in her brain, and dropping into a chair at the table gasped out: "Do you know--what Captain Haney just said to me?" "Not being a mind-reader, I don't," replied the girl, calmly, though she was moved by her mother's white, awed face. "He wants you!" Bertha flushed and braced both hands against the table as she replied, "Well, he can't have me!" With the opposition in her daughter's tone, Mrs. Gilman was suddenly moved to argue. "Think what it means, Bertie! He's rich. Did you know that? He owns two mines." "I know he is a gambler and runs two saloons. You see, the boys keep me posted, and I'm not marrying a gambler--not this summer," she ended, decisively. "But he's going to give that up, he says." He hadn't said this, but she was sure he would. "His income is a hundred thousand dollars a year. Think of that!" "I don't want to think of it," the girl answered, frowning slightly. "It makes my head ache. Nobody has a right to so much money. How did he get it?" "Out of his mine--and oh, Bertie, he says if you'll speak the word we needn't do another day's work in this hot, greasy old place! The house is his, anyway. Did you know that?"