He stopped for breath.  His companion was silent.  After a moment, he continued: 

“You tell her that, Hammond,” he went on.  “If she really cares for him, it’ll be enough.  She won’t let him ruin his life.  And I’ll keep quiet till I hear from you.  If she’s sensible and really decent, then she can give him his clearance papers without his knowing why she did it and everything will be a secret and kept so.  Nobody else’ll ever know.  If she won’t do that, then you tell me and I’ll have a session with him.  If that’s no good, then out he goes and she with him; and it’s ruination for both of ’em, reputations and all.  Why am I doing this?  I’ll tell you.  I like him.  He isn’t orthodox enough to suit me, but I have liked him mighty well.  And Annab—­Humph! that’s neither here nor there.  What I’m fighting for is the Trumet Regular church.  That’s my church and I’ll have no dirty scandal with Come-Outers dragging it down.  Now you understand.  Will you tell her what I’ve said?”

The chair creaked.  Evidently, Captain Eben was rising slowly to his feet.

“Well?” repeated Elkanah.

“Elkanah Daniels,” said Eben slowly, his voice shaking from nervous exhaustion and weakness, but with a fine ring of determination in every word, “Elkanah Daniels, you listen to me.  I’ve heard you through.  If your yarn is true, then my heart is broke, and I wish I might have died afore I heard it.  But I didn’t die and I have heard it.  Now listen to me.  I love that girl of mine better’n the whole wide world and yet I’d ruther see her dead afore me than married to a Reg’lar minister.  Disgrace to him!  Disgrace to your miser’ble church!  What about the disgrace to mine?  And the disgrace to her?  Ruin to your minister!  Ruin to my girl here and hereafter is what I’m thinkin’ of; that and my people who worship God with me.  I’ll talk to Grace.  I’ll talk to her.  But not of what’ll happen to him or you—­or any of your cantin’, lip-servin’ crew.  I’ll tell her to choose between him and me.  And if she chooses him, I’ll send her out of that door.  I’ll do my duty and read her out of my congregation.  And I’ll know she’s gone to everlastin’ hell, and that’s worse’n the poorhouse.  That’s all to-night, Elkanah.  Now you better go.”

“Humph!  Well, I declare! you are a bigoted—­”

“Stop it!  I’ve kept my hands off you so fur, because I’m the Lord’s servant.  But I’m fightin’ hard to keep down my old salt-water temper.  You go!  There’s the door.”

“All right, all right!  I don’t care what you say, so long as it’s said so as to stop her from getting him—­and said soon.”

“It’ll be said to-night.  Now go!  My people are waitin’ at the chapel.”

“You’re not going to that prayer meeting after this?”

“Where else should I go?  ’Come unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy laden.’  And—­and”—­his voice broke—­“He knows that I am heavy laden.  Lord!  Lord! do help me, for this is more’n I can bear alone.”