The girl turned her head away. They had reached the foot of the Webster driveway, and unbidden the horse halted. But as Lucy prepared to climb out of the wagon, the man stayed her. "I reckon there's some place I could turn round, ain't there, if I was to drive in?" he said recklessly. "Oh, there's plenty of room," Lucy answered, "only hadn't you better drop me here? My--my--aunt is at home." "I don't care," Martin retorted with the same abandon. "I ain't goin' to have you plod up that long driveway in the broilin' sun--aunt or no aunt." He laughed boyishly. "It's awfully good of you. But please, if you mind coming, don't; for indeed I----" "You ain't your aunt," asserted Martin with a shy glance into her face. Lucy met the glance with a blush and a whimsical smile. "No, I'm not," she responded, "and sometimes I wish you weren't your father and your grandfather." "What do you mean?" "Because if you were just _you_, you'd be more forgiving--I know you would." She saw him bite his lips and a dull red tinge his cheek. Without answering he turned into the long avenue and presently drew up before the side door. "There you are!" he remarked stiffly. Lucy did not need to look at him to sense that the kindliness had left his countenance, and his jaw had become grim and set. Had she been able to read his thoughts, she would have realized that the short detour into Ellen Webster's territory had brought Martin to himself, and that he was already deploring with inward scorn the weakness that had led him to do the thing he had pledged his word never to do. He could not even shunt off the blame for his act and say, as did his illustrious ancestor: "The woman tempted me and I did eat." No, he had open-eyed stalked voluntarily into temptation,--willingly, gladly, triumphantly. He had sinned against his conscience, his traditions, his forbears, and behold, angry as he was with himself for yielding to it, the sin was sweet. CHAPTER XII THE TEST Martin had guided his horse round the triangle of sweet-williams and, still torn by conflicting emotions of ecstasy and self-reproach, was proceeding down the driveway when a cry of distress reached his ear: "Martin--Mr. Howe!" He turned to see Lucy Webster beckoning frantically to him from the door. "Come back, please," she cried. "Hurry!" That she was excited was evident. Indeed she must have been quite out of her mind to have called him Martin in that shameless fashion. The fact that the name had slipped so spontaneously from her lips and that she hastened to correct her mistake caused the man to speculate with delight as to whether she was wont to think of him by this familiar cognomen. This thought, however, was of minor importance, the flash of an instant. What chiefly disturbed Martin was the girl's agitation.