She quivered, sobbed dryly—then she shoved him away.
“I know because he boasted of it. That—and other things. To-morrow that—note. The bank will make you pay it. He—said he—would be making clothespins—in your mill—”
“But you—why are you here? What do you want?”
She summoned her strength and her pride.
“It doesn’t—matter why—I am here. You must go back. You mustn’t go on.”
“So that’s it,” he said, bitterly. “He sent you to hold me back till they could do the work.”
He turned and began to stride away.
“No!” she cried. “You mustn’t go!”
“Go back to town, Marie,” he said, his voice quivering, not with wrath, but with pain. “Go back. I’m going on.”
“You mustn’t!” She took one tottering step toward him and sank until she was on her knees. He would not believe her. He would not be warned.