"My father—" she murmured with a deprecating air, "I am afraid this will kill him. I have locked him in his room. I don't know what he will do. Can't you stop until to-morrow?"
"If you will pledge yourself for him to finish grinding my grain to-morrow," said Ambrose.
"How can I pledge him?" she said pettishly. "I am not his master."
"Then we must grind on."
She was silent for a moment, looking on the ground. When she raised her eyes the look in them sent all the blood flying from his heart. "Ambrose!" she murmured on the deep note he remembered so well. "Have you forgotten?"
He stared at her in a kind of horror.
"How can you be so hard to me?" she murmured.
She overdid it. Behind the intoxicating, soft appeal of her eyes, he perceived a dangerous glitter, and steeled himself.
"Come outside a moment," she whispered, turning up her face a little.
The unregenerate man in him leaped to accept what she offered and still hold firm. If she chose to play that game let her take the consequences? His more generous self held back. Somehow he realized that the humiliation would almost kill her—later.