Had Priscilla been given more time, had she been less physically spent, she would have protected herself from her father's thought; as it was she could only summon enough strength to parry his questions with truthful answers, and until it was too late she did not realize how they damned her.
"Up at—at—Far Hill Place."
"All night?"
"Yes."
"With——"
"With—with Jerry-Jo McAlpin."
"Oh!" This came like a snake's warning.
"The—the storm was—oh! Father——"
"The storm!" roared Nathaniel; "the storm! Are you sugar or salt? Have you so little morality that you choose to stay overnight with a man in a lonely house instead of coming wet but clean-charactered to your safe home?"
And then Priscilla understood! She had come into the room and was sitting near the door she had closed behind her. She, on the sudden, seemed to grow old and strong; the ancient distrust and dislike of her father overcame her; she looked at her mother, bent and sobbing over the sink, and only for her sake did she continue the useless conversation.