But the seed implanted by the father, a man of honest impulses, remained somewhere the girl's consciousness--latent, nearly parched by the brutality of subsequent environments; until Jane had begun to moisten it with encouragement, and now it was budding. On the other hand, she had seen in Nancy tendencies of less promise: a physical desire to be away from the frame house by the roadside, and a character--not entirely weak, but irresolute--easing its sense of obligation by the devil's insidious argument of poverty; also, that the recent application to perfect her modest learning was in parallel with an unexpressed hope of independence in the cities. Frequently--and invariably after nights when old Tom was on his sprees--Jane had found her pathetically near the precipice of desperation, and it required some pointed talks to hold her steady. The second event in her life had been of more recent date: Brent. As old Zack now neared the ramshackle house, he saw her leaning over the crooked gate. Not infrequently of late he had carried a note to her, and he rather felt that she might be looking for one today. She smiled, showing a really exquisite line of teeth between lips full and inviting. Her mouth was large, as though Nature, realizing her possession of one exceptional quality, had made the most of it. Around her neck hung a simple garnet pendant which Zack had noticed only in the last few days; and now, as she stood with chin up-tilted, the sunlight struck this stone sending a soft, crimson gleam of dull fire across the white skin below her throat. "Mawnin', Miss Nancy," he made a perfunctory bow. "Good mornin', Uncle Zack." "How's yoh folks?" the old man asked. It was warm, he was weary of the ride and wanted to talk. "They're well, thanks." She did not ask after those at Arden. He folded his hands on the pummel and let his feet slip out of the uncertain rope stirrups. Sitting thus relaxed, for a moment he looked meditatively at the old mule's drooping ears, then reached in his pocket, brought out a red handkerchief of the bandanna type and wiped his brow. He had something to tell her--she knew this! But she knew, too, from experience that when he brought a message he must take his own time about delivering it. "Dat's a mighty spry gemmen over to our house," he finally remarked. "Mr. Brent?" she flushed a little. "No-deedy! He's spry, too; but dis'n I'm talkin' 'bout jes' come." "Yes, I heard about him," she said. "A sort of hill-billy, isn't he?" "Now, how'd you heah dat?" the old fellow looked down at her. "He only got dar las' night!" "I don't remember--somebody came by an' told Pappy, I reckon."