"No, I haven't," said Rachel, sharply.
She hurriedly untied the ribbon from her neck, and put it in her pocket.
"Don't talk to me any more!" she said, frowning. "You're a perfect stranger. You have no right to speak to me."
"I guess the old woman ain't right in her head!" thought Daniel. "Must be she's crazy!"
Poor Rachel! she felt more disconsolate than ever. There was no Daniel, then. She had been basely imposed upon. There was no call for her to sacrifice herself on the altar of matrimony. She ought to have been glad, but she wasn't.
Half an hour later a drooping, disconsolate figure entered the house of Timothy Harding.
"Why, what's the matter, Rachel?" asked Martha, who noticed her woe-begone expression.
"I ain't long for this world," said Rachel, gloomily. "Death has marked me for his own."
"Don't you feel well this afternoon, Rachel?"
"No; I feel as if life was a burden."