“But why does Mr. Chamberlayne come to you now?” he asked, when he had regained his voice.

“It is Mrs. Gay—­it has always been Mrs. Gay ever since Mr. Jonathan first saw her.  She smothered his soul with her softness, and wound him about her little finger when she appeared all the time too weak to lift her hand.  That’s just the kind Mr. Mullen preaches about in his sermons—­the kind that rules without your knowing it.  But if she’d been bold and bad instead of soft and good, she couldn’t have done half the harm!”

“And Miss Kesiah?” he asked, “had she nothing to do with it?”

“She?  Oh, her sister has drained her—­there isn’t an ounce of red blood left in her veins.  Mr. Jonathan never liked her because she is homely, and she had no influence over him.  Mrs. Gay ruled him.”

“I always thought her so lovely and gentle,” he said regretfully, “she seems to me so much more womanly than Miss Kesiah.”

“I suppose she is as far as her face goes, and that’s what people judge by.  If you part your hair and look a certain way nothing that you can do will keep them from thinking you an angel.  When I smile at Mr. Mullen in church it convinces him that I like visiting the sick.”

“How can you laugh at him, Molly, if you are going to marry him?”

“Have you positively decided,” she inquired, “that I am going to marry him?”

“Wasn’t that what you meant when you threw me over?”

She shook her head, “No, it wasn’t what I meant—­but since you’ve made up your mind, I suppose there’s no use for me to say a word?”

“On the whole I don’t think there is—­for your words are not honest ones.”

“Then why do you judge me by them, Abel?” she asked very softly.

“Because a man must judge by something and I can’t look into your heart.  But if I’m not to be your lover,” he added, “I’ll not be your plaything.  It’s now or never.”

“Why, Abel!” she exclaimed in mock astonishment.

“It’s the last time I shall ever ask you—­Molly, will you marry me?”

“You’ve forgotten poor Mr. Mullen.”

“Hang Mr. Mullen!  I shall ask you just three times, and the third time will be the last—­Now, Molly will you marry me?  That’s the second.”

“But it’s so sudden, Abel.”

“If ten years can’t prepare you, ten minutes will be no better.  Here goes the third and last, Molly—–­”

“Abel, how can you be so silly?”

“That’s not an answer—­will you—–­”

“Do you mean if I don’t promise now, I’ll never have the chance again?”

“I’ve told you—­listen—–­”

“Oh, wait a minute.  Please, go slowly.”

“—­Marry me?”

“Abel, I don’t believe you love me!” she said, and began to sob.

“Answer me and I’ll show you.”

“I didn’t think you’d be so cruel—­when—–­”

“When?  Remember I’ve stopped playing, Molly.”