“I see you don't understand me,” he went on. “The God's truth is that I hain't no hand to talk about delicate matters to a young gal, an' you above all, but I want to _know_--I want _some'n'_ to build on. I don't know how to put what I want to ax. Maybe I'm away--away off, an' will want to kill myse'f fer even dreamin' that--but--well, maybe you'll git at what I mean from this. You see, I run in the room on you an' my wife not long ago an' ketched Sally an' you a-cryin' over some'n' or other you'd confided to 'er, an' then other things of a like nature has crapped up lately, an'--” “I don't understand you, Mr. Baker,” said Cynthia, anxiously, when she saw he was going no further. “I really don't. But I assure you, I'm ready to tell you anything.” “Ah! Are you? Well, I started to say Sally don't cry over other folks' matters unless they are purty sad, an' you know at the time you refused to tell me what yore trouble was. Maybe you ain't ready yet, little sister. But could you tell me, right out plain, what ailed you that day?” Cynthia stared and then dropped her glance to the ground. “I don't see that it would help in the matter,” she said, awkwardly. “Well, maybe it wouldn't,” he declared, in despair; “an' I reckon thar are things one woman would tell another woman that she wouldn't speak of to a man.” “I guess that's so,” said Cynthia, still perplexed over the turn the conversation had taken and yet firm in her determination to say nothing that would involve Mrs. Baker's secret. “Well, maybe you won't mind it much ef I put it this away,” Pole continued. “Now, remember, you don't have to say yes or no unless you want to. Little sister, I'll put it this away: ef Nelson Floyd was to never come back here again, could you, as--as a good, true woman--could you conscientiously marry another man? Could you with a clear conscience, I mean, before God, ever marry another man? Thar, it's out! Could you?” Cynthia started. She looked down. She was silent. Her color rose. “Now, mind,” Pole said, suddenly, “you don't _have_ to answer unless you want to. No man's got a right to hem a weak, excited woman up in a corner and get at her heart's secrets.” “Would it do any good for you to know that, Mr. Baker?” the girl said, in a low voice. “I think so, little sister.” “Well, then”--she turned her face away--“I don't think I'd ever want to marry any other living man.” “Oh, my God!” Pole averted his face, but not before she had seen its writhing torture. She stared at him in astonishment, and, to avoid her eyes, he lowered his head to his arms, which were folded on the top rail of the fence. Fully a minute passed; still he did not look up. She saw his broad shoulders rising and falling as if he were trying to subdue a torrent of emotion. She laid her hand firmly on his arm. “Tell me what you mean,” she suddenly demanded. “I want to know. This has gone far enough. What do you mean?”