_Rowell._ Not so fast, my dear fellow: hear me out. You are a brave man; you have enlisted in your country's cause. You must go to the battle-field, and leave your dear ones to the tender mercies of this little world. I cannot be insensible to such patriotism, and I would befriend you in this emergency. _Rob._ You befriend me! I have no claim upon you. _Rowell._ But you have upon my ward. She was reared beneath this roof. Were she here, I think she would uphold me in what I am about to do,—restore to you this farm. _Rob._ Restore it! I have no right to it. 'Tis yours by lawful purchase. _Rowell._ You're right; and as an act of justice to one who gives himself to a great cause, that his dear ones shall not be left helpless, I give you back the farm. _Rob._ You do this, Mr. Rowell: you give me the farm freely, unconditionally? _Rowell._ Not exactly. There is one condition, and only one. (MATTIE _appears at window outside, with a pair of scissors, and is arranging and clipping her flowers, overhearing the following dialogue_.) _Rob._ One condition. Mr. Rowell, before you state that condition, let us understand one another. I do not like you. I have felt an instinctive dislike from the time you first entered this town. I have heard hard stories concerning you,—that you have wronged men, ay, and women too. With all that, I have no right to prevent my mother and sister from remaining in their old home. I will not, can I do so honorably. But I will accept no favor from you. Show me any way in which I can redeem this place, the way to win it back by good service that shall repay in full all expenses you have incurred in its purchase, or encumber it with a mortgage and heavy interest; but give me time to redeem, and I will believe you are my friend, will trust you. Come, I have spoken plainly: now let me hear your condition. _Rowell._ Ha! I like plain speaking. You are an adept at it. You don't like me. Well, then, in place of favor, I will offer a bargain. Here it is: this farm to you and yours forever, for a promise—a pledge—that you never offer your hand to my ward, Gaylie Gifford. _Rob._ Gaylie Gifford,—my hand!—Mr. Rowell, you are jesting. _Rowell._ No, I am serious. When I entered this house for the first time to-day, I heard your confession to your mother. I know how grateful Gaylie is for the kind care bestowed upon her here in childhood; and I would not have her kind heart wounded by the belief that one with whom she has been so intimate should presume upon her friendship, to seek to gain her hand, and with it a fortune. _Rob_ (_rising_). Mr. Rowell, you are insulting. _Rowell._ Come, be reasonable! You can never hope to win her. Give me your promise, and the farm is yours.