“Parker is in love with a factory girl.  He quarreled with one of the hands because he was jealous of him, and would have been whipped by the man and his friends; to spare him that, I knocked him down.  Do you feel better now, Cassy?”

“Better?  How does it concern me?”

He laughed.

“Put Black Jake in the wagon,” he called to Jesse.

Alice heard him and came downstairs; we went out on the piazza, to see him off.  “Why do you go?” she asked, in an uneasy tone.

“I must.  Wont you go too?”

She refused; but whispered to me, asking if I were afraid?

“Of what?”

“Men quarreling.”

“Cassandra, will you go?” he asked.  “If not, I am off.  Jump in behind, Sam, will you?”

“Go,” said Alice; and she ran in for a shawl, which she wrapped round me.

“Alice,” said Charles, “you are a silly woman.”

“As you have always said,” she answered, laughing.  “Ward the blows from him, Cassandra.”

“It’s a pretty dark night for a ride,” remarked Sam.

“I have rode in darker ones.”

“I dessay,” replied Sam.

“Cover your hand with my handkerchief,” I said; “the wind is cutting.”

“Do you wish it?”

“No, I do not wish it; it was a humanitary idea merely.”

He refused to have it covered.

The air had a moldy taint, and the wind blew the dead leaves around us.  As we rode through the darkness I counted the glimmering lights which flashed across our way till we got out on the high-road where they grew scarce, and the wind whistled loud about our faces.  He laid his hand on my shawl.  “It is too light; you will take cold.”

“No.”

We reached the mills, and pulled up by the corner of a building, where a light shone through a window.

“This is my office.  You must go in—­it is too chilly for you to wait in the wagon.  Hold Jake, Sam, till I come back.”

I followed him.  In the farthest corner of the room where we had seen the light, behind the desk, sat Mr. Parker, with his light hair rumpled, and a pen behind his ear.

I stopped by the door, while Charles went to the desk and stood before him to intercept my view, but he could not help my hearing what was said, though he spoke low.

“Did you give something to Sam, Parker, for bringing me your note at such a late hour?”

“Certainly,” in a loud voice.

“He must be fifty, at least.”

“I should say so,” rather lower.

“Well, here is your money; you had better stay.  I shall be devilish sorry for your father, who is my friend; you know he will be disappointed if you leave; depend upon it he will guess at the girl.  Of course you would like to have me say I was in fault about giving you a blow—­as I was.  Stay.  You will get over the affair.  We all do.  Is she handsome?”

“Beautiful,” in a meek but enthusiastic tone.