on and rebellion were suddenly born? Nathaniel was
awed, too, but he managed to utter the command: "Leave the room, hussy!"

When the parents were alone they took stock of the responsibility that
was laid upon them. Helplessly Theodora began to cry. She could no more
cope with this situation than a baby. She had never risen above or beyond
the dead level of Kenmore life, and surely no Kenmore woman had ever
borne so unnatural a child. She feared hopelessly and tremblingly.

With Nathaniel it was different. He was a hard man who had forced
himself, as he had others, along the one grim path, but he had the male's
inheritance of understanding of certain traits and emotions. Had any one
suggested to him that his girl had derived from him--not her colourless
mother--the desire for excitement through the senses, he would have flung
the thought madly from him. Men were men; women were women! Even if
temptation came to a girl, only a bad, an evil-natured girl would
recognize it and succumb. His daughter, Nathaniel firmly believed, was
marked for destruction, and he was frightened and aroused not only for
Priscilla herself but for his reputation and position. He had known
similar temptation; had overcome it. He understood, or thought he did!

He gave the girl no benefit of doubt; his mind conceived things that
never had occurred. He believed she had often met the young fellow from
the Hill Place. God alone knew what had gone before!

"What shall we do?" sobbed Theodora. "We cannot make a prisoner of her;
we cannot watch her every move--and she's only a bit over fourteen!"

Had the girl died that night Nathaniel would not have mourned her, he
would have known only relief and gratitude.

"She was unwelcomed," he muttered to his weeping wife; "and she has
become a curse to us. It lies with us to turn the punishment into our
souls' good; but what can we do for her?"

Priscilla did not die that night. She slept peacefully and happily with
the red, pulsing planet over the hemlock shining faithfully upon her. The
next day she reappeared before her parents with a cloudless face and a
willingness to make such amends as could be brought about without too
much self-abnegation. In the broad light of day the mother could not hold
to the horrors of the evening before. She had been nervous and
overwrought; it wasn't so bad as they had thought!

"I want you to go erranding," she said to Priscilla soon after the midday
meal and by way of