“Go up ter the mounting!” she reiterated. “An’ when, mebbe, ez the time goes, ye ’low I mought be changin’ my mind, remember I tuk the trouble ter call ye hyar, an’ tell ye thar never war a woman ez hated a man like I hate you-uns. Some o’ ’em hated one another in the Bible, didn’t they? Study ’bout’n ’em. Fur none o’ ’em hated like me!” “Marcelly!” he cried again, pleadingly. “I never done it a-purpose.” She let her hands fall on either side with a gesture of indifference. “Ye mought ez well.” She knew her power. She saw his pain, and she rejoiced in the retributive pangs. “I war all day a-tryin’ ter holp him in the ’lection,” he protested. “I did everything I could fur him. ’Twar his fault,—an’ ef ye seen it ye air ’bleeged ter know it.” She looked at him with disdainful eyes. “Mought save yerse’f from the court that-a-way, moughtn’t ye? But _ye_ won’t hanker fur Sol’mon ter try _yer_ case, will ye?” Her face was suddenly smitten with a ghastly look, as she realized what that possible future for him involved for her father. “Marcelly!” he cried, in pity for her, divining her thought. She recovered in a moment. She bore a stanch heart within her. “Go up ter the mounting!” She lifted her hand, and pointed through the flowers to the stern fastnesses against the sky. “An’ ef I could hev it so by sayin’ ‘Go out’n the world,’ I’d say it!” She turned from the vines,—a light step, the flutter of a garment, the cautious closing of a door, and she was gone. He waited for a time, believing that she would relent; she could but come back with some word of mercy, or pardon, or cheer for him. He still held the vines aside, and looked through into the open passage of the house, fearful that she might come forth and think him gone, not seeing him here. It was strangely still; presently a rooster, bronze and red and yellow, sprang upon the puncheons of the passage, and muttering inarticulately to himself strutted back and forth, his claws ploddingly audible. And now he was gone. Upon the post of the porch, close at hand, a tree-toad began to shrill. Jepson saw the creature after a little,—a dull greenish-brown color against the weathered gray of the unpainted wood. How acute his senses were! He was conscious of noticing the curious climbing feet of the tiny reptile, as he stood. Women after a time came to the house with baskets on their arms, containing infallible domestic remedies or bundles, hoping to supply some household deficiency. They looked curiously at him; two or three made a motion as if they would speak, then desisted, and went their way. He cared nothing for his pale and agitated face, his wild, eager eyes. His pride seemed spent. He was glad they had seen him. They would tell her he waited without. And surely she would then come with some word to salve the wounds she had dealt. He would be grateful for so little. He could wait so long.