Kirsteen had listened, with one foot on the hearth in her favorite attitude.  When the girl had finished she said quietly: 

“I’m not a witch, Nedda!”

“But if it wasn’t for you he would never have started.  And now that poor Tryst’s dead he would leave it alone.  I’m sure only you can make him lose that haunted feeling.”

Kirsteen shook her head.

“Listen, Nedda!” she said slowly, as though weighing each word.  “I should like you to understand.  There’s a superstition in this country that people are free.  Ever since I was a girl your age I’ve known that they are not; no one is free here who can’t pay for freedom.  It’s one thing to see, another to feel this with your whole being.  When, like me, you have an open wound, which something is always inflaming, you can’t wonder, can you, that fever escapes into the air.  Derek may have caught the infection of my fever—­that’s all!  But I shall never lose that fever, Nedda—­never!”

“But, Aunt Kirsteen, this haunting is dreadful.  I can’t bear to see it.”

“My dear, Derek is very highly strung, and he’s been ill.  It’s in my family to see things.  That’ll go away.”

Nedda said passionately: 

“I don’t believe he’ll ever lose it while he goes on here, tearing his heart out.  And they’re trying to get me away from him.  I know they are!”

Kirsteen turned; her eyes seemed to blaze.

“They?  Ah!  Yes!  You’ll have to fight if you want to marry a rebel, Nedda!”

Nedda put her hands to her forehead, bewildered.  “You see, Nedda, rebellion never ceases.  It’s not only against this or that injustice, it’s against all force and wealth that takes advantage of its force and wealth.  That rebellion goes on forever.  Think well before you join in.”

Nedda turned away.  Of what use to tell her to think when ’I won’t—­I can’t be parted from him!’ kept every other thought paralyzed.  And she pressed her forehead against the cross-bar of the window, trying to find better words to make her appeal again.  Out there above the orchard the sky was blue, and everything light and gay, as the very butterflies that wavered past.  A motor-car seemed to have stopped in the road close by; its whirring and whizzing was clearly audible, mingled with the cooings of pigeons and a robin’s song.  And suddenly she heard her aunt say: 

“You have your chance, Nedda!  Here they are!”

Nedda turned.  There in the doorway were her Uncles John and Stanley coming in, followed by her father and Uncle Tod.

What did this mean?  What had they come for?  And, disturbed to the heart, she gazed from one to the other.  They had that curious look of people not quite knowing what their reception will be like, yet with something resolute, almost portentous, in their mien.  She saw John go up to her aunt and hold out his hand.

“I dare say Felix and Nedda have told you about yesterday,” he said.  “Stanley and I thought it best to come over.”  Kirsteen answered: