"Home? Home? With you?" she cried. "Ha, ha! That's too good! Home, with you to forever remind me what I am? For you to sneer at me, and point me to your friends for what I am? Never, never! Go you back where you came from. I'm not a wife. Do you hear? God help me, I'm--" And she buried her face again upon her arms. "Won't you come to home, gal?" the man persisted. "Won't you? I'm so desp'rit lonesome. An' the kids, too. Gee! they're jest yearnin' an' yearnin' for you--nigh as bad as me." He took a step towards her with his arms outstretched. All his soul was in his mild eyes. And presently Jessie raised her head again. She stood staring at the wall opposite her. It was as though she dared not face him. Her eyes were burning, but they were less wild, and a sudden hope thrilled the man's heart. He hurried on, fearful lest the old storm should break out again-- "Y'see, Jess, ther' ain't nuthin' to our pore little shack on the 'dumps' without you. Ther' sure ain't. Then ther's my claim. I sold ha'f. An'--an' I got money now--I--" The woman's eyes turned slowly upon him. They were red with unshed tears. Their expression was curious. There was doubt and shrinking in them. It almost seemed as if she were wondering if all the past days of regret and longing had turned her brain, and she were listening to words conjured by a distorted fancy, some insane delusion. She could not believe. But Scipio continued, and his voice was real enough. "I--know I ain't much of a feller for the likes of you, Jess," he said earnestly. "I ain't quick. I ain't jest bright. But I do love you, my dear. I love you so I can't think nothin' else. I want you to home, Jess, that bad, I thank God ev'ry day He give you to me. I want you so bad it don't seem you ever bin away from me. I want you that bad I can't remember the last week or so. You'll come--to home, gal--now? Think--jest think o' them bits o' twins. You wait till you see 'em laff when they get eyes on you. Say, they're that bonny an' bright. They're jest like you, wi' their eyes all a-sparklin', an' their cheeks that rosy. Gee! they're jest a-yearnin' an' a-callin' fer their mam--same as me." The little man had moved another step nearer. His arms were still outstretched, and his quaint face was all aglow with the warmth and love that stirred him. Somewhere in the back of his dull head he knew that he was pleading for something more than his life. He had no subtlety in his manner or his words. It was just his heart talking for him and guiding him. And in the woman had risen a sudden hope. It was a struggling ray of light in the blackness of her despair. It was a weak struggling flicker--just a flicker. And even as it rose its power was dashed again in the profundity of her suffering. She could not grasp the hand held out--she could not see it. She could not believe the words her ears heard.