In the mean time Elder Kinney’s existence had become transformed.  He dared not to admit himself how much it meant, this new delight in simply being alive, for back of his delight lurked a desperate fear; he dared not move.  Day after day he spent more and more time in the company of Draxy and her father.  Reuben and he were fast becoming close friends.  Reuben’s gentle, trustful nature found repose in the Elder’s firm, sturdy downrightness, much as it had in Captain Melville’s; and the Elder would have loved Reuben if he had not been Draxy’s father.  But to Draxy he seemed to draw no nearer.  She was the same frank, affectionate, merry, puzzling woman-child that she had been at first; yet as he saw more and more how much she knew of books which he did not know, of people, and of affairs of which he had never heard—­how fluently, graciously, and even wisely she could talk, he felt himself cut off from her.  Her sweet, low tones and distinct articulation tortured him while they fascinated him; they seemed to set her so apart.  In fact, each separate charm she had, produced in the poor Elder’s humble heart a mixture of delight and pain which could not be analyzed and could not long be borne.

He exaggerated all his own defects of manner, and speech, and education; he felt uncomfortable in Draxy’s presence, in spite of all the affectionate reverence with which she treated him; he said to himself fifty times a day, “It’s only my bein’ a minister that makes her think anythin’ o’ me.”  The Elder was fast growing wretched.

But Draxy was happy.  She was still in some ways more child than woman.  Her peculiar training had left her imagination singularly free from fancies concerning love and marriage.  The Elder was a central interest in her life; she would have said instantly and cordially that she loved him dearly.  She saw him many times every day; she knew all his outgoings and incomings; she knew the first step of his foot on the threshold; she felt that he belonged to them, and they to him.  Yet as a woman thinks of the man whose wife she longs to be, Draxy had never once thought of Elder Kinney.

But when the new kitchen was finished, and the Millers entered on their separate housekeeping, a change came.  As Reuben and Jane and Draxy sat down for the first time alone together at their tea-table, Reuben said cheerily:—­

“Now this seems like old times.  This is nice.”

“Yes,” replied Jane.  Draxy did not speak.  Reuben looked at her.  She colored suddenly, deeply, and said with desperate honesty,—­

“Yes, father; but I can’t help thinking how lonely Mr. Kinney must be.”

“Well, I declare,” said Reuben, conscience-stricken; “I suppose he must be; I hate to think on’t.  But we’ll have him in here’s often’s he’ll come.”

Just the other side of the narrow entry sat the Elder, leaning both his elbows on the table, and looking over at the vacant place where the night before, and for thirty nights before, Draxy had sat.  It was more than he could bear.  He sprang up, and leaving his supper untasted, walked out of the house.