“Look yer,” he said, suddenly turning to them both. “I reckon as how you two wanter talk over old times, and I'll just meander over to the claim, and do a spell o' work. Don't mind ME. And if HE”--indicating Madison with his finger--“gets on ter religion, don't you mind him. It won't hurt you, Safie,--no more nor my revolver,--but it's pow'ful persuadin', and you understand me? You follow me? Well, so long!” He turned away quickly, and was presently lost among the trees. For an instant the embarrassed Madison thought of following him; but he was confronted by Mrs. McGee's wicked eyes and smiling face between him and the door. Composing herself, however, with a simulation of perfect gravity she pointed to a chair. “Sit down, Brother Wayne. If you're going to convert me, it may take some time, you know, and you might as well make yourself comfortable. As for me, I'll take the anxious bench.” She laughed with a certain girlishness, which he well remembered, and leaped to a sitting posture on the table with her hands on her knees, swinging her smart shoes backwards and forwards below it. Madison looked at her in hopeless silence, with a pale, disturbed face and shining eyes. “Or, if you want to talk as we used to talk, Mad, when we sat on the front steps at Angel's and pa and ma went inside to give us a show, ye can hop up alongside o' me.” She made a feint of gathering her skirts beside her. “Safie!” broke out the unfortunate man, in a tone that seemed to increase in formal solemnity with his manifest agitation, “this is impossible. The laws of God that have joined you and this man”-- “Oh, it's the prayer-meeting, is it?” said Safie, settling her skirts again, with affected resignation. “Go on.” “Listen, Safie,” said Madison, turning despairingly towards her. “Let us for His sake, let us for the sake of our dear blessed past, talk together earnestly and prayerfully. Let us take this time to root out of our feeble hearts all yearnings that are not prompted by Him--yearnings that your union with this man makes impossible and sinful. Let us for the sake of the past take counsel of each other, even as brother and sister.” “Sister McGee!” she interrupted mockingly. “It wasn't as brother and sister you made love to me at Angel's.” “No! I loved you then, and would have made you my wife.” “And you don't love me any more,” she said, audaciously darting a wicked look into his eyes, “only because I didn't marry you? And you think that Christian?” “You know I love you as I have loved you always,” he said passionately. “Hush!” she said mockingly; “suppose he should hear you.” “He knows it!” said Madison bitterly. “I told him all!” She stared at him fixedly. “You have--told--him--that--you STILL love me?” she repeated slowly. “Yes, or I wouldn't be here now. It was due to him--to my own conscience.” “And what did he say?” “He insisted upon my coming, and, as God is my Judge and witness--he seemed satisfied and content.”