"Do you hate me now, Dorothy?"
"Not so much as I did then."
"What an implacable little Quaker you are!"
"A tyrant is always hated," said Dorothy, trying to release her hands.
"If you will look in my eyes, Dorothy, and call me by my name, just once,—I'll let 'thee' go."
"Walter Evesham!" said Dorothy, with great firmness and decision.
"No! that won't do! You must look at me,—and say it softly,—in a little sentence, Dorothy!"
"Will thee please let me go, Walter?"
Walter Evesham was a man of his word, but as Dorothy sped away, he looked as if he wished he were not.
The next evening, Friend Barton sat by his wife's easy-chair, drawn into the circle of firelight, with his elbows on his knees, and his head between his hands.