“But young lady, that is very arbitrary!” cried Mr. Kennedy. “You don't understand! They are a couple of old people, and they are slowly dying of broken hearts!”
“Not so badly broken or they wouldn't die slowly,” commented the Girl grimly. “The heart that was really broken was my mother's. The torture of a starved, overworked body and hopeless brain was hers. There was nothing slow about her death, for she went out with only half a life spent, and much of that in acute agony, because of their negligence. David, you often have said that this is my home. I choose to take you at your word. Will you kindly tell this man that he is not welcome in this house, and I wish him to leave it at once?”
The Harvester stepped back, and his face grew very white.
“I can't, Ruth,” he said gently.
“Why not?”
“Because I brought him here.”
“You brought him here! You! David, are you crazy? You!”
“It is through me that he came.”
The Girl caught the mantel for support.
“Then I stand alone again,” she said. “Harvester, I had thought you were on my side.”