He went on rapidly—­“I have wanted to go away somewhere, out of this, and grow into something above this peasant’s life; and all this only since I have known you.”

“Well,” said Clemence, giving him a glance of cold contempt, “What has this to do with me?  Such aspirations would be more appropriate for your wife’s ear, than mine, and, do you know, your present appearance is rather more ludicrous than sensational?  I could respect you at your own fireside, or attending to your homely labors, for you were then occupying your proper sphere; but, at present, you impress me in a totally different manner.

“Go back to your wife, who, if, as you declare, is not a lady, is, at least, your equal, for you will never be a gentleman; and you can both, if you try to do right, become happy and contented in that calling which your parents have followed faithfully and well before you.

“When people, who have never in the course of a long life been remarkable for ambition, suddenly come to have aspirations, you may be quite sure that the ‘arch enemy of mankind,’ who is said to be indefatigable in providing work ‘for idle hands to do,’ is plotting their certain destruction.”

She broke off abruptly, absolutely appalled by the gleam of murderous hate that leaped into the man’s fierce dark eye, as the meaning of her words dawned upon his dulled perception.  He opened his lips, which had grown white with rage, but no sound came from them.

The next moment a childish voice, near them, called, “Papa! where are you?” and Clemence drew a sigh of relief, as little Sammy Owen bounded through the bushes to her side.

Five minutes later, she was walking alone, disconsolately, thinking of this new trouble that threatened her peace, for she felt instinctively that, in the last hour, she had made an enemy, to be shunned and dreaded during the rest of her stay in Waveland.

“Well, thank God!” she said fervently, “that I am at least safe.  I am innocent of any wrong intent, and I know that I shall be upheld, now, as in every other trouble that has come to me, and in the end, find justification.”

There was no one visible when she reached the house, but Mrs. Owen, who sat with her dumpling of a baby, on the door-steps.

“La!” she ejaculated, as Clemence came in sight, walking wearily enough, “what’s the matter—­be you sick?”

“No,” said Clemence, sinking down beside her, “only tired.”

“Well, you look as though you had seen a ghost, at the very least.  There ain’t much to you, any way, you give out the easiest of anybody I ever see.  A good night’s rest will help you, and you will be all right in the morning.”

“I have got to walk another mile before I obtain it, though,” said Clemence, rising.  “I am going to spend to-morrow and Sunday with Mrs. Hardyng.”

“No, be you?” reiterated Mrs. Owen.  “Sakes alive you’ll never stand it to walk way down there, and feeling tired out before you start.  It will be dark too, before you get there.  I wish Amos was here, and I’d send him along, too, but he went off somewhere, I don’t know in what direction, and ain’t even been in to his supper.  That makes me think, you ain’t had your’s, neither.  Better stay and let me get you a cup of tea?”