"Some other squatter girl."
"I ain't got no other squatter's brat here," she cried, turning her eyes upon Teola. "It ain't no other squatter's brat, air it?"
"No, no, Frederick," replied Teola, white and wan; "she has told you the truth—it isn't another squatter's child."
Hope died in the boy and outraged feeling leaped into its place. He held Tessibel's eyes with his relentlessly.
"Did you expect to mix prayers for your father with filth like that?" he demanded, pointing to the hidden infant in the fold of her dress. "Did you expect God to hear you, when your life was full of—sin?... I am ashamed I ever loved you, ashamed that I took my life from your hands.... I wish I were—dead! I wish I were dead!"
Teola gasped in her new understanding. The squatter and her handsome brother loved each other! Never for one moment had it dawned upon her, until she saw the tall boy drop beside the stool and sob out his heart agony upon the open Bible.
If she dared speak the truth, she could assure him of the goodness of the fisher-girl. But her lips sealed themselves with her soul's consent. She raised her face, giving Tess one look of terror. Reaching out, she touched her brother's arm.
"Frederick, come home with me. This is awful—awful!"
"I don't want to go home," sobbed the boy, in pitiful abandon. "I didn't know anything could be so hard to bear. And I loved her faith and her character—and her beautiful face.... Oh, I love her, I love her, Teola!"