on earth was she doing it, when she could
still go back with Logan? For a long half hour she struggled with
herself, one minute deciding; to go back, the next deciding to stay.
Finally she faced the thing. She would see it through, if it killed
her. She would make Francis respect her, if it took six months instead
of three at hard labor. She would take the wages for the work she had
done, and go back home a free, self-respecting woman.

She dressed herself quickly, and went down to breakfast, braced to play
her part before the O'Maras. Short as her time with them, she was fond
of them already.

"I think your devotion is a bit hard on yer wife," remarked Mrs.
O'Mara, whom Peggy had put in possession of the facts. "If I were her,
I'd value an affection more that had less o' dishwashin' in it!"

"She's helping me over a pretty hard place." Francis said this calmly.
But he flushed in a way that, as Marjorie knew, meant he was disturbed.
"You know every man counts just now, and labor is cruelly scarce. I'm
doing mine and a day-laborer's work besides, now. And the contract has
to be finished."

"Well, of course, there's a gown or so for her in it," said Mrs. O'Mara
comfortably. "And 'tis no more than a woman should do, to help out her
man if he needs it. Have ye any aprons or work-dresses, me dear, for
if not Peggy and me will make ye some. We've a bolt of stuff."

"No, and I'd be very glad if you would," said Marjorie, feeling the
thing more irrevocable every moment.

"And rest this morning, and I'll pack for you," said Peggy
affectionately. She led Marjorie out to the swing herself, and went
upstairs to pack before she went to help her mother with the breakfast
dishes.

Marjorie was too restless to lie still. She went out and walked about
the place, and came back and lay down, and so put in the interminable
hours till luncheon. After luncheon Francis appeared like the
messenger of doom he was, put her and a small bag in the side-car and
carried her off to her place of servitude.

The ride, in spite of all, was pleasant. For a while neither of them
spoke. Then Francis did.

"I feel as if this was unfair to you--for apparently the O'Maras think,
and I suppose everybody will, that you really are doing this to show
your fondness for me. I shall have to ask you to let them think so."

"I have," she answered curtly.

"You don't understand. I--I am going to have to stay in the cabin with
you. . . .