"It were a lie he told ye," said she, "and he weren't worth killin'."
"I don't want to speak of him," stammered Frederick, "I came to talk to you. It nearly killed me to-night, when my father whipped you, and I want to save you from such things in the future.... My father gives me an allowance—I want to buy the milk for the little child. Will you let me, Tess?" His face had grown scarlet, his eyes fell before hers. The girl seemed glued to the spot. "It will save you from stealing," resumed the boy. "I can't bear to have you steal."
The tragic tone stung Tessibel. Teola had promised to tell him. She herself would; it was only right that he should know. She took two impetuous steps forward, opened her lips—but again remembered her oath.
"I air a-thankin' ye for the milk," was all she said.
With an embarrassed air, Frederick tendered her a silver dollar. Tessibel stepped back, hesitant.
"It will make me happier, if you will take it," he urged.
Tess extended her fingers, blushing crimson, but took the coin from his hand. A sob choked the utterance of further gratitude.
"Professor Young says," broke in Frederick, after a painful silence, "that he is going to bring your father back here before the winter.... But, Tess, I don't want you to live in this shanty. I want you to be a better girl, Tess. Will you? Will you?"
His eyes rested upon the child. The darkness of the night, the ghostly sound of the wind, the swish of the thousands of wet leaves over the roof, roused the romance in the girl until she felt an impulse to tell him the whole painful story; to feel his kisses warm upon her face, to have his arms about her, to kneel with him again, and hear his earnest voice interceding for Daddy Skinner.... But her oath! It was Teola's secret, not hers.
"Ye couldn't go on a-trustin' me the same as before ye knowed of him?" Her head inclined toward the infant in a large-eyed question.