“I’ve never said it before, being I ain’t dared, but I’ll say it now ef yew kill me, Joshuy Marlowe! I’m tew full tew keep still! I jest can’t, an’ that’s all there is about it! Yew’ve been tew hard on yewr own flesh an’ blood, an’ yew’ve been tew hard on me—an’ we air goin’ tew the Poor Farm as a jedgement upon us—yew fer bein’ so hard, an’ me fer keepin’ still an’ mindin’ ye!” Before such a flood of honest condemnation, Joshua Marlowe stood silent; he had not dreamed that his wife harbored such bitterness toward him. With hardly a pause for breath, she went on speaking, rolling the corners of her apron in both hands and rocking her body back and forth in the torrent of her misery. “Ef it warn’t fer yewr hardness, they would be here now, Joshuy—Samanthy, Marion an’ Dollie! But yew turned ’em out! Yew did, Joshuy Marlowe! Yew giv Samanthy tew Tom an’ disowned poor Dollie, an’ yew’d a-turned Marion out ef yew’d a-dared, but yew dassent! That’s one of yewr children that wasn’t afeard of yew, Joshuy! Oh, Marion! Marion! I wish yew wuz here this minute!” The poor woman clasped her hands over her face and began weeping again, while Joshua Marlowe stood like one transfixed, staring grimly at her. There was a light step on the snow outside, but neither of them heard it. The next second the door flew open and a beautiful girl stood upon the threshold, her eyes flashing like diamonds as their glance fell upon the weeping woman. “Mother! Mother! I have come back!” cried a sweet, young voice. The poor woman dropped her apron and gave a scream of joy. “Oh, Marion! Thank God! It is my darter Marion!” CHAPTER II. PAYING OFF THE MORTGAGE. Without even noticing her father, Marion Marlowe crossed the room to her mother’s side, and for just a moment mother and daughter wept together. Joshua Marlowe stared at her silently. He could hardly believe his eyes. Was this beautiful, stylishly dressed girl his daughter Marion? After her burst of tears was over, Marion dried her eyes. It was not her nature to waste much time in weeping. “Why didn’t you answer our letters, mother—Dollie’s and mine?” she asked, and then answered her own question without waiting for her mother. “I suppose father would not let you,” she said, with some scorn, “and of course you were too scared to dream of disobeying him! It doesn’t seem possible that a woman could be so weak, but I forgive you, mother. I know he would only have made your life miserable for you.” “Yew air tew hard on me, Marion,” said her father, faintly. He had always stood a little in fear of his daughter Marion. The girl sprang to her feet and faced him, her cheeks flaming with indignation. “No, I’m not, father!” she said, hotly. “I am not hard enough on you! You have broken up your own family and you ought to be ashamed of it!” “Did I send Dollie away?” asked the farmer, flaring up a little. “Did I make her run away with that scapegrace, Lawson?”