he wife of a gentleman, or
give up the flock and the interest I allowed you in the increase, and
go home and scrape the pots and pans!"

"You'd never do that, Dad--you'd never break your word with me, after
all I've gone through for you, and take my lambs away from me!"

"I would, just so," said Tim. But he did not have the courage to look
her in the face as he said it, turning away like a stubborn man who
had no cause beneath his feet, but who meant to be stubborn and unjust
against it all.

"I don't believe it!" she said.

"I will so, Joan."

"Your word to Malcolm Reid means a whole lot to you, but your word to
me means nothing!" Joan spoke in bitterness, her voice vibrating with
passion.

"It isn't the same," he defended weakly.

"No, you can rob your daughter----"

"Silence! I'll not have it!" Tim could look at her now, having a
reason, as he saw it. There was a solid footing to his pretense at
last.

"It's a cheap way to get a thousand lambs," said she.

"Then I've got 'em cheap!" said Tim, red in his fury. "You'll flout me
and mock me and throw my offers for your good in my face, and speak
disrespectful----"

"I spoke the truth, no word but the----"

"I'll have no more out o' ye! It's home you go, and it's there you'll
stay till you can trim your tongue and bend your mind to obey my
word!"

"You've got no right to take my sheep; you went into a contract with
me, you ought to respect it as much as your word to anybody!"

"You have no sheep, you had none. Home you'll go, this minute, and
leave the sheep."

"I hope they'll die, every one of them!"

"Silence, ye! Get on that horse and go home, and I'll be there after
you to tend to your case, my lady! I'll have none of this chargin' me
to thievery out of the mouth of one of my childer--I'll have none of
it!"

"Maybe you've got a better name for it--you and old man Reid!" Joan
scorned, her face still white with the cold, deep anger of her wrong.

"I'll tame you, or I'll break your heart!" said Tim, doubly angry
because the charge she made struck deep. He glowered at her, mumbling
and growling as if considering immediate chastisement.

Joan said no more, but her hand trembled, her limbs were weak
under her weight with the collapse of all her hopes, as she untied and
mounted her horse. The ruin of her foundations left her in a daze, to
which the surging, throbbing of a sense of deep, humiliating,
shameful wrong, added the obscuration of senses,