"Tel my ma an' your pa air willin'," she said, taking up the shuttle.
"I care more for you th'n for what they may say, an' I 'lowed you did the same, or you wouldn't 'a' promised to marry me. I s'pose you didn't mean it."
"I did mean it; but it's more'n I can do to go ag'in' 'em so p'intedly all at once," she said, and turned from him to lean against the loom, love and duty struggling mightily together in her heart.
"Well, it ain't more'n I can do," he replied, grimly; "an' when I get settled I'm jest bound to keep you to yer promise."
He drew nearer to her, hesitated, then kissed her cheek.
"I love you Sarah Betsy—I love you, honey," he whispered, then turned quickly away.
She followed him to the door, and when he had disappeared from her sight she looked long and gravely at Bush Mountain, a vast pile rising against the sky, its rugged slopes softened by a hazy veil. It had been invested with new interest for her as the temporary home and refuge of her lover.
The outbreak of the old feud between the Hurds and the Hardings was soon known throughout the Cove, and discussed at every fireside. Bitter feelings were engendered between sympathizing friends of the two families, and the peaceful settlement was divided into factions. The Harding boys were too young to take much part in the wordy war, but Mrs. Harding did not lack chivalrous support from some of her neighbors, who loudly declared that no lone woman should be trampled upon. The women, at least the younger women, and those inclined to sentiment, expressed great sympathy for Sarah Betsy and John. It seemed hard that the lovers should be divided by a quarrel between the elder members of the families.
"It's best for 'em if they only knowed it," said one brown, withered old woman, shaking her head grimly and cynically over her pipe. "Neither life nor men air what we 'low they air, when we er young. These young fo'ks air separated while their love is warm an' frush, an' without discoverin' that it ain't goin' to last ferever, an' that no human creetur is without a mighty load o' faults. I can recollect more'n one couple that 'peared lack they'd die broken-hearted if they didn't git married, an' then in a little while, 'peared lack they'd die because they wus married. There ain't no countin' on human natur, I can tell you. It's about the oncertaintest thing in this world 'ceptin' death."
Sile Ed'ards had to learn a new lesson in this uncertain human nature that summer, when those who in former times seemed to care most for his counsel turned impatiently away from his entreaties for peace. His words fell to the ground, and he carried a sorely troubled and heavy heart about with him, and spent more time than ever in the solitude of Bush Mountain, fasting and praying for his erring flock, who seemed to enjoy the excitement of a quarrel far more than they did the peaceable worship of the Lord; who brought sounds of strife to the very altar rails, more than one meeting having ended in bitter words.