we two embarked on that most
foolish of all things, a secret engagement. But the fault was not his,
it was mine entirely. He wanted to go and tell my father all about it;
it would be better, he said, to be open and above board, and he didn't
think my father would mind much; but I wouldn't let him.

I can excuse myself even now, for I was young, and I felt I could not
stand my mother's perpetual moan. She would have spoiled my Eden with
her prognostications of possible evil. We met in the nearest gully
whenever we had the chance, and after all it was not so bad. Now I look
back on those two months of spring as the very happiest of my life. If
anything went wrong at home, and things did go wrong very often, for my
father was sure to be drunk once a week, and my mother's misery made me
unhappy, I always consoled myself with the reflection that Paul would
understand, that Paul would pity and comfort me. And he never failed me,
not once, my darling, not once.

Then there came upon me a new and unexpected trouble, one I might have
foreseen had I been a little older and known something more of the
world's ways. Stanton of Telowie owned all the country for miles back,
and consequently was a well-to-do man. I do not think he was a
very reputable man, though he was my father's great friend and boon
companion. My mother, usually so hard on men who drank ever so little,
and, as she said, led my father astray, would never blame Dick Stanton.
It was for my sake he did it, she said, and I don't know now whether she
was right or not; he sold out and went to England thirty years ago,
and I have never heard of him since. But I do know Paul Griffith, his
overseer, hated him with a bitter hatred, and what Paul did I did. I
was not a bad-looking little girl, and he may probably have meant to
be kind, but it was not his kindness I wanted. Like many another man
in those days, he wanted a wife, and this my mother dinned into my
unwilling ears morning, noon, and night.

"But, mother," I said at last, driven to bay, "how do you know he wants
me?"

"My dear," she answered, "do you think I have lived all these years in
the world for nothing? What do you suppose the man comes here twice a
week for?"

"To see father," I answered hotly, "and I hate him for it. Why can't
he let us alone? He comes, and it's always 'Another bottle, Hope; open
another bottle for Mr. Stanton.' I hate him, mother, I hate him."

"Oh, Hope," she went on unheeding, "it