eading it, and yet
determined to take a header.

"I hear, Paul," he began, "that you are very attentive to Eugenia
Claiborne."

"I call on her occasionally," said Paul. "She is a very agreeable young
lady." He spoke coolly, but the blood mounted to his face.

"So I hear--so I hear," remarked Silas in a business-like way. "Still, I
hope you won't carry matters too far."

"What do you mean?" Paul inquired.

"I wish I could go into particulars; I wish I could tell you exactly
what I mean, but I can't," said Silas. "All I can say is that it would
be impossible for you to marry the young woman. My Lord!" he exclaimed,
as he saw Paul close his jaws together. "Ain't there no other woman in
the world?"

"Do you know anything against the young lady's character?" the son
asked.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," was the response.

"Well," said Paul, "I hadn't considered the question of marriage at all,
but since you've brought the subject up, we may as well discuss it. You
say it will be impossible for me to marry this young lady, and you
refuse to tell me why. Don't you think I am old enough to be trusted?"

"Why, certainly, Paul--of course; but there are some things--" Silas
paused, and caught his breath, and then went on. "Honestly, Paul, if I
could tell you, I would; I'd be glad to tell you; but this is a matter
in which you will have to depend on my judgment. Can't you trust me?"

"Just as far as you can trust me, but no farther," was the reply. "I'm
not a child. In a few months I'll be of age. But if I were only ten
years old, and knew the young lady as well as I know her now, you
couldn't turn me against her by insinuations." He rose, shook himself,
walked the length of the room and back again, and stood close to his
father. "You've already settled the question of marriage. I asked you
last night about the report that you intended to act with the radicals,
and you refused to give me a direct answer. That means that the report
is true. Do you suppose that Eugenia Claiborne, or any other decent
woman would marry the son of a scalawag?" he asked with a voice full of
passion. "Why, she'd spit in his face, and I wouldn't blame her."

The young man went out, leaving Silas sitting at the table. "Lord! I
hate to hurt him, but he'd better be dead than to marry that girl."

Rhody, who was standing in the entryway leading from the dining-room to
the kitchen, and who had overheard every word that passed between father
and