"Ye talks of healin' a breach, Gran'pap, but ye kain't heal no breach by tyin' a woman up ter a man she kain't never love. Thar'd be a breach right hyar under this roof ter start with from ther commencement." That much she had been able to say as a preface in acknowledgment of the old man's sincerity of purpose, but now her voice rang with the thrill of personal liberty and its deeper claim. Her beauty grew suddenly gorgeous with the surge of colour to her cheeks and the flaming of her eyes. She stood the woman spirit incarnate, which can at need be also the tigress spirit, asserting her home-making privilege, and ready to do battle for it. "Fam'ly means a man an' a woman--an' children," she declared, "an' ther man thet fathers my babies hes need ter be ther man I _loves_!" Caleb inclined his head. He had spoken, and now as one closes a book he dismissed the matter with a gesture. "I've done give ye my reasons," he said, "but I hain't nuver sought ter fo'ce no woman, an' hit's too late ter start. Ther two of ye sets thar like a jury thet's done heered ther argyment. My plan wouldn't be feasible nohow onlessen yore heart war in hit, Dorothy, an' I sees es plain as day whar yore heart's at. So I reckon I kin give ye my blessin' ef ye're plum shore ye hain't makin' no error." CHAPTER XII The old man struck a match and held it to his pipe and then as he turned to leave the room Maggard halted him. "I kain't suffer ye ter go away without I tells ye suthin'," he said, "an' I fears me sorely when ye hears hit ye're right like ter withhold yore blessin' atter all." The patriarch wheeled and stood listening, and Dorothy, too, caught her breath anxiously as the young man confessed. For a time old Caleb stood stonily immovable while the story, which the girl had already heard, had its second telling. But as the narration progressed the gray-haired mountaineer bent interestedly forward, and by the time it had drawn to its close his eyes were no longer wrathful but soberly and judicially thoughtful. He ran his fingers through his gray hair, and incredulously demanded, "Who did ye say yore grandsire was?" "His name was Caleb Thornton--he went ter Virginny sixty ya'rs back." "Caleb Thornton!" Through the mists of many years the old man was tracking back along barefoot trails of boyhood. "Caleb Thornton! Him an' me hunted an' fished tergither and worked tergither when we wasn't nothin' but small shavers. We was like twin brethren an' folks called us Good Caleb an' Bad Caleb. I was ther bad one!" The old lips parted in a smile that was tenderly reminiscent. "Why boy, thet makes ye blood-kin of mine ... hit makes yore business my business ... an' yore trouble my trouble. I'm ther head of ther house now--an' ye're related ter me." "I hain't clost kin," objected Cal, quickly. "Not too clost ter wed with Dorothy."