The eyes of both men were moist, and in a moment of impulsiveness the Squire reached across the table and took the Judge’s hand. But when a visitor’s touch rattled the outside latch of the door a flash of the old Look family feeling caused him to suddenly twitch away. He felt, with a certain shame, that he did not want any one to catch him shaking the hand of Collamore Willard. It was the Judge’s daughter. She held the door open until Eli had entered, too, with the apologetic demeanour of one who knew certain things and was therefore apprehensive. “Father,” she said, her eyes brilliant, her cheeks flushed, but glorious in all her aspect, with the poise of a woman who has fully resolved and therefore dares, “will I be interrupting you and Phineas too much if I take a moment of your time?” “I--I think our business is about finished,” said the Judge, falteringly. He put his hand over the notes that he had just signed. “I have come here,” she went on, “because it is a matter that both of you should listen to at the same time. It is simply this, father: Phineas Look has spoken his love for me and has shown his love for me. As we all know that he is a man whose word is sacred, I take it for granted that he is still of the same mind. There have been troubles between our families in which I have had no share, but which at your request I respected in some measure. I have allowed you to make other promises for me without my sanction, for you are my father and it has been the custom in the Willard family to honour parents and gainsay them in little. “I have now decided that it is cowardice instead of loyalty that has swayed me--for if I were truly loyal to your wishes I would not be loving with all my heart and soul the man you have forbidden me to love. The Willards have not been cowards. I know I am disobeying you, father. But my mind is made up. It will be no use for you to make it harder for us both by cruel words. That portion of property that was to have been mine I surrender willingly to Kleber. My husband does not want my fortune.” The face of the old man contracted with a sudden grimace of shame and pain. Squire Phin, who had been staring at her, his palms outspread on the table to prop himself, pushed some papers over the notes spread before the Judge and trembled in every muscle. She flashed a sudden look that was half-indignation into his burning eyes. “Have I not been unwomanly enough without your making me coax you and wheedle you to me, as I have had to woo your old dog?” she demanded, stamping her foot. And then seeing that he swayed dizzily at the table, confounded by the situation, she came close, reached across over the scattered papers and patted his broad hand. “Now what have you got to say to me, Phineas?” she whispered. “I know you can talk, for I have listened to you with my heart in my mouth.”