He had risen and was pacing the floor.  Jed asked a question.

“What does your sister want you to do?” he asked.

“Ruth?  Oh, as I told you, she thinks of no one but me.  How dreadful it would be for me to tell of my Middleford record!  How awful if I lost my position in the bank!  Suppose they discharged me and the town learned why!  I’ve tried to make her see that, compared to the question of Maud, nothing else matters at all, but I’m afraid she doesn’t see it as I do.  She only sees—­me.”

“Her brother.  Um . . . yes, I know.”

“Yes.  Well, we talked and talked, but we got nowhere.  So at last I said I was coming out to thank you for what you did to save me, Jed.  I could hardly believe it then; I can scarcely believe it now.  It was too much for any man to do for another.  And she said to talk the whole puzzle out with you.  She seems to have all the confidence on earth in your judgment, Jed.  She is as willing to leave a decision to you, apparently, as you profess to be to leave one to your wooden prophet up on the shelf there; what’s-his-name—­ er—­Isaiah.”

Jed looked greatly pleased, but he shook his head.  “I’m afraid her confidence ain’t founded on a rock, like the feller’s house in the Bible,” he drawled.  “My decisions are liable to stick half way betwixt and between, same as—­er—­Jeremiah’s do.  But,” he added, gravely, “I have been thinkin’ pretty seriously about you and your particular puzzle, Charlie, and—­and I ain’t sure that I don’t see one way out of the fog.  It may be a hard way, and it may turn out wrong, and it may not be anything you’ll agree to.  But—­”

“What is it?  If it’s anything even half way satisfactory I’ll believe you’re the wisest man on earth, Jed Winslow.”

“Well, if I thought you was liable to believe that I’d tell you to send your believer to the blacksmith’s ‘cause there was somethin’ wrong with it.  No, I ain’t wise, far from it.  But, Charlie, I think you’re dead right about what you say concernin’ Maud and her father and you.  You can’t tell her without tellin’ him.  For your own sake you mustn’t tell him without tellin’ her.  And you shouldn’t, as a straight up and down, honorable man keep on workin’ for Sam when you ask him, under these circumstances, to give you his daughter.  You can’t afford to have her say ‘yes’ because she pities you, nor to have him give in to her because she begs him to.  No, you want to be independent, to go to both of ’em and say:  ’Here’s my story and here am I. You know now what I did and you know, too, what I’ve been and how I’ve behaved since I’ve been with you.’  You want to say to Maud:  ’Do you care enough for me to marry me in spite of what I’ve done and where I’ve been?’ And to Sam:  ‘Providin’ your daughter does care for me, I mean to marry her some day or other.  And you can’t be on his pay roll when you say that, as I see it.”

Phillips stopped in his stride.