t long about a bush. "The Squire has, as you know," she said, "a
legacy of five thousand dollars from poor Colonel Lamson. He wishes
to invest part of it. He would like to rebuild your mill."

Jerome colored high. "Thank him, and thank you," he said; "but--"

"He does not propose to give it to you," she interposed, quickly. "He
would not venture to propose that, however much he might like to do
so. His plan is to rebuild the mill, and for you to work it on
shares--you to have your share of the profits for your labor. You
could have the chance to buy him out later, when you were able."

Jerome was about to speak, but Abigail interrupted again. "I beg you
not to make your final decision now," she said. "There is no
necessity for it. I would rather, too, that you gave your answer to
the Squire instead of me. I have nothing to do with it. It is simply
a proposition of the Squire's for you to consider at your leisure.
You know how much my husband has always thought of you since you were
a child. He would be glad to help you, and help himself at the same
time, if you will allow him to do so; but that can pass over. I have
something else of more importance to me to say. Jerome Edwards," said
she, suddenly, and there was a new tone in her voice, "I want you to
tell me just how matters stand between you and my daughter, Lucina. I
am her mother, and I have a right to know."

Jerome looked at her. His handsome young face was very white.
"I--have been working hard to earn enough money to marry," he said,
speaking quick, as if his breath failed him. "I lost my mill. I will
not ask her to wait."

"You had a fortune, but you gave it away," returned Mrs. Merritt.
"Well, we will not discuss that; that is not between you and me, or
any human being, if you did what you thought right. Lucina has twenty
thousand dollars, you know that?"

Jerome nodded. "Yes," he replied, hoarsely.

"What difference will it make whether you have the money or your
wife?"

"It makes a difference to me," Jerome cried then, with that old flash
of black eyes which had intimidated the little girl Lucina in years
past.

"And yet you say you love my daughter," said Mrs. Merritt, looking at
him steadily.

"I love her so much that I would lay down my life for her!" Jerome
cried, fiercely, and there was a flare of red over his pale face.

"But not so much that you would sacrifice one jot or one tittle of
your pride for her," responded Abigail Merritt, wit