this?"

She shook her head. She had wiped away her tears and her eyes were
strong and determined. "After conceding so much I don't see why you
should refuse the vital point," she said.

"I can tell you why, and I am afraid that I must."

"Don't be afraid; simply tell me."

"But, daughter, it would seem cruel."

"Not if I demand it."

"Then you do demand it? Well, you shall know. His father served a term
in the Louisiana penitentiary for forgery. And now you may ask why I
ever let him come into this house. I will tell you. He had been teaching
school here some time and I said nothing. One day during a rainstorm he
stopped at the gate. He was sick and I invited him to come in. After
that I could not find enough firmness to tell him not to come, he was so
pale and weak. I see now that it was a false sympathy. Do you understand
me? His father was a convict."

"Yes, I understand. He told me."

"By the blood on the Cross! Do you mean to say--Louise," he broke off,
gazing upon her, "your mind is unsettled. Yes, you are crazy, and, of
course, all your self-respect is gone. You needn't say a word, you are
crazy. You are--I don't know what you are, but I know what I am, and
now, after the uselessness of my appeal to your gratitude, I will assert
the authority of a father. You shall not marry him."

"And would you kill a dying man?" she quietly asked.

The question jolted him, and he shouted out: "What do you mean by such
nonsense? You know I wouldn't."

"Then I will marry him."

For a moment the Major's anger choked him. With many a dry rasp he
strove to speak, and just as he had made smoother a channel for his
words, he heard the hollow cough drawing nearer. He motioned toward a
door that opened in an opposite direction, and the girl, after
hesitating a moment, quickly stepped out upon a veranda that overlooked
the river. The Major turned his eyes toward the other door, and there
Pennington stood with a handkerchief tightly pressed to his mouth. For a
time they were silent, one strong and severe, the other tremulous and
almost spectral in the softened light.

"There is a chair, sir," said the Major, pointing.

"I thank you, sir; I don't care to sit down. I--I am very sorry that you
are compelled to look upon me as--as you do, sir. And it is all my
fault, I assure you, and I can't defend myself."

He dropped his handkerchief and looked down as if he were afraid to
stoop to pick it up. The Major stepped forward