“He's after your ma, Paul.” Ralph emitted another groan. “He's took with 'er purty face, an' has set in to make a plumb fool of 'er, and make 'er hate me. He's the kind o' devil that won't pick and choose for hisself, like an honest man, out in the open among free gals an' women, but thinks that nothin' ain't as good as another man's holdin's. He thinks he is sorry fer 'er because she's tied to a sick man; but it hain't that--it's the devil in 'im!” The boy laid his arm on his father's shoulders; his lips moved, but no sound issued; his face was rigid and white. “I ain't talkin' without grounds.” Ralph's faint voice trailed away on its wave of agony. “Friends have come to me an' reported the doin's of the two at singin'. He fetches her a bunch of flowers every day, an' they set an' sing out o' the same book with the'r heads plumped together. He walks mighty nigh all the way home with her through the woods, an' sneaks off as soon as they git in sight o' the house. He makes all manner o' fun o' me--tellin' folks, so I've been told, that I can't last long, an' that she never knowed what rale healthy love was nohow.” Paul's hand was now on his father's head, and he was gently stroking the long, thick hair, though his eyes were blazing, his breast heaving, as from an inner tempest. Ralph turned and looked toward the house. The light was out now, and there was no sound. “I reckon she's gone back to sleep,” Ralph wailed, bitterly. “What does she care how I feel? She could have no idea, you couldn't neither, Paul, fur you are too young. But maybe some day you will know the awful, awful sting o' havin' the world look on in scorn, while a big strappin' brute of a daredevil an' the mother o' yore child--oh, my God! I can't stand it--I jest _can't!_ I'd die a million deaths rather than--it's in the Rundel blood, I reckon, planted thar deep by generations an' generations o' proud folks. I'm goin' to kill 'im, Paul. I don't know when or how, exactly, but it's got to be done, if God will only give me the strength. It won't be no sin; it couldn't be; it would be just wipin' out one o' the slimy vipers o' life.” “If you don't, I will, father. I swear it here an' now,” the boy solemnly vowed, removing his hand from the cold brow and looking off in the mystical light which lay over the fields. “Huh, we won't _both_ have to do it!” Ralph spoke as if half dreaming, certainly not realizing his son's frame of mind. “It never would be any satisfaction to have it said that it took two of us to fix 'im, even if he _is_ rated high on his fightin' record. No, that's _my_ job; you keep clean out of it!” “Come to my bed, father.” Paul caught his arm and drew him gently from the fence. “You are shakin' from head to foot; your teeth are chatterin', an' you are cold through an' through.”