“Hold yer jaw whilst yer elders speak!” exclaimed the imperative old woman. “Good-lookin’, it seemed, till Marcelly couldn’t rest, but hard-hearted an’ cruel-eyed, fur all he hed eyes blue an’ deep ez a well, accordin’ ter Marcelly; an’ she b’lieved he hed no religion, though pious words war on his tongue! An’ I hed that man fur breakfus’, an’ dinner, an’ supper; an’ when Marcelly war plumb beat out talkin’ ’bout him, Is’bel tuk her turn.” “_Granny!_” faintly reiterated Marcella, crimson and faltering, and hardly heeding Andy Longwood at her feet, as he sought to lift the wheel to its place before her, and to disengage his elbow from the “spun-truck.” Isabel looked aghast from one to the other. “Granny, it’s that same man!” she cried, with a facial contortion of great significance, but which her aged relative failed to interpret. Eli Strobe looked heavily on, a little doubtful, but unable to understand the commotion. “I know it’s that same man I’m a-talkin’ ’bout,” Mrs. Strobe observed with dignity. “Ye didn’t know his name, nare one o’ ye; his looks war enough fur ye an’ Marcelly, special Marcelly. An’ ez ter his hard heart; an’ his cruel eyes, an’ his bein’ a hypocrite, it’s him ez hev got ter burn in Torment fur that, not Marcelly; so she rej’iced an’ rej’iced in the handsome sinner, a-purtendin’ ter despise him so!” Isabel, less daunted by the situation than her sister, found strength to rise from the step where she had sat near the “frequent visitor,” and faced round upon her unconscious grandmother. She relied now upon nothing less pointed than her index-finger, and as she leveled it at Jepson she declared,— “It’s _him_, granny,—him ez be a-settin’ thar in the cheer!” Mrs. Strobe’s jaw dropped, as the realization of the social enormity of which she had been guilty was borne in upon her. She turned her faltering eyes upon Jepson, who sat beside her motionless. He was outwardly calm. His brow bore only a slight corrugation that could hardly be called a frown. His face was impassive; perhaps its imperious and lofty suggestions were accented by a touch of disdain, but in his eyes his anger burned undisguised. Mrs. Strobe appreciated now how deep they were, how blue, how full of fire, how alive with a tempestuous spirit. His long legs were stretched out before him; his hat was pushed far back from his brow, and he looked forth with a sedulous appearance of unconcern at the mustering shadows. She remembered in dismay the opprobrious epithets,—cruel-eyed, hard-hearted, no religion, and Marcella, the candidate’s daughter, despised him.