“Yes, father, I knew it, somewhere back in my mind, but I didn’t think anything about it. I didn’t think of anything but--just him!” “But you’ll have to think about it now,” he said in a gently suggestive tone. “Yes,” she assented dully, “I’ll have to think about it now”--she stopped, then went on with a flash of pain in her tone, “when I can think!” “You must try to realize,” her father went on, “before it is too late, how you would like to be the mistress of slaves, supported by slave labor, your welfare and all your interests so bound up with the system of slavery that you will be forced to become one of its defenders.” Her head drooped and she turned away with a little gesture of one hand as though begging him to stop. He waited a moment and she faced him again and said slowly, with little breaks and catchings of her breath: “Father! I don’t believe I could do it! I--love him--I want to be his wife--but--slaves! I couldn’t! I know I couldn’t!” She broke down then and began to sob softly under her breath. He put his hand through her arm and led her up the path to the house. Mrs. Ware came out to meet them, anxiety in her face. “What is it? What’s the matter?” she questioned. Rhoda straightened up and rested one hand upon her mother’s shoulder. Mrs. Ware was short and plump of stature and Rhoda, tall and of slender build like her father, looked down into her face with tear-filled eyes. “Mother,” she began, her tone already self-controlled, “I’m afraid you’ll feel badly about it, but--I don’t think I can marry Jeff Delavan, after all.” “Rhoda! Child! What is the trouble? What have you been saying to her, Amos?” “There, mother! You mustn’t blame father. He only reminded me that Jeff is a slaveholder. Of course, I knew it before, but I--just hadn’t thought about it. Mother, you’ll think me foolish, I know, but I don’t--I don’t think I can marry him.” “Is that all? Dear child, you’re making a mountain out of nothing at all! Come with me, dear. Your father has been putting foolish notions into your head. Come, we’ll talk it over, and you’ll soon see there’s nothing in that to keep you apart!” Rhoda bent her head for a moment upon her mother’s shoulder and, half reluctantly drawing herself from her father’s arm, which seemed even more unwilling to let her go, started into the house. In their absorption they had not heard Charlotte coming up the walk. “What’s the matter?” she exclaimed, seizing her father’s hand. “Is Rhoda sick?” “You may tell her, father,” Rhoda turned to say, as she and Mrs. Ware disappeared through the door. “Well, what is it?” Charlotte demanded briskly, as her father hesitated. “Jeff Delavan wants to marry her.” “Humph! Is that anything to cry about?” she commented, sitting down on the veranda step. “Where is he? Is he crying too?” “He’s gone home--he went a little while ago.”