"Great Scott! Won't you let me choose my own wife even?" he exclaimed, with a laugh in which there was an ironic humour. The soft pressure of Molly's fingers was still on his hand, and he saw her face looking up at him, gentle and beseeching, as she had looked when she offered her lips to his kiss. Above the yearning of his heart there rose now the decision of his judgment--and this had surrendered her to Mr. Mullen! Some rigid strain of morality, inherited from Sarah and therefore continually at war with her, caused him to torture himself into a mental recognition that her choice was for the best. "That man never walked that had sense enough to pick out a wife," rejoined Sarah. "To think of a great hulkin' fellow like you losin' yo' sense over a half mad will-o'-the-wisp that don't even come of decent people. If she hadn't had eyes as big as saucers, do you reckon you'd ever have turned twice to look at her?" "For God's sake don't talk about her--she's not going to marry me," he responded, and the admission of the truth he had so often repeated in his own mind caused a pang of disbelief. "I'd like to know why she ain't?" snorted Sarah indignantly, "does she think she's goin' to get a better catch in this neighbourhood?" "Oh, it's all one. She doesn't want to, that is enough." "Well, she's a fool if she doesn't want to, an' I'll say it to her face. If thar's a better lookin' man around here, I'd like to see him, or a better worker. What have the Merryweathers to be so set up about, I'd like to know? And that gal without even a father to her name that she can call her own!" "You mustn't--I won't stand it any longer." "Well, it's for yo' good, I reckon. If yo' own mother can't take yo' side, I'd like to know who's goin' to do it?" "I don't want anybody to take my side. She's got a right not to marry me." "I ain't saying' she ain't, an' it's a mighty good thing for you that she's sech a plum fool as not to want to. 'Twould be the worst news I'd ever heard if she'd been minded to have you. I'd move heaven an' earth to keep you from marryin' her, an' if the good Lord has done it instead of me, I'm thankful enough to Him for His trouble." Rising from the table, Abel pushed his untasted food aside with a gesture of loathing. A week ago he had been interested in the minor details of life; to-night he felt that they bored him profoundly. "If you knew what you were saying you'd hold your tongue," he retorted angrily. "Ain't you goin' to eat yo' supper?" inquired Sarah anxiously, "that herrin' is real nice and brown." "I don't want anything. I'm not hungry." "Mebbe you'd like one of the brandied peaches I'm savin' for Christmas?" "No, I'm dead beat. I'll go up to sleep pretty soon." "Do you want a fire? I can lay one in a minute." He shook his head, not impatiently, but as one to whom brandied peaches and wood fires are matters of complete indifference. "I've got to see about something in the stable first. Then I'll go to bed."