"Come, you are going home with me," he said.
"I am not!" his daughter cried, with her arms tight about Guinea. "I am not; I am going to the jail."
"Then I will take you home."
"Don't touch me!" she cried, shrinking back into a corner. "Don't touch me, for I am almost mad. What do I care for your pride? What do I care for the old graveyard? You have tried to break my heart, but I will marry him. He is worth ten thousand such men as your cold-blooded son. Don't you touch me, father. Mr. Hawes!" she screamed, "don't let him touch me."
The old General had stepped forward as if to lay hands upon her, but he stepped back, bowed and said: "You are a lady and I am a gentleman, and these facts protect you from violence at my hands, but I here denounce you—no, I don't, my daughter. I cannot denounce my own flesh and blood. I will leave you here to-night, hoping that when this fit of passion is over reason will lead you home. Good-night."
CHAPTER XV.
Long we sat there in a calm, after the General left us; and the two girls, on a bench in a corner, whispered to each other. How wild had been my guessing at the character of Millie! How could one so shy, so gentle, so fond of showing her dimples, cast off all timidity and set herself in opposition to her father's authority and pride? I could but argue that she was wrong, that she had forgotten her duty, thus to stand out and violently defy him, and yet I admired her for the spirit she had shown. And I believed that Guinea was just as determined, just as passionate. But she was wiser.
I told the old man what Alf had requested me to tell him, that he must sell his farm and go away, and he replied that he would. "I don't think, though, that I can get very much for it. Parker's land joins mine, and may be I can strike a trade with him. Of course, I don't want to live here any longer, for no matter what may come now we've got the name. Susan, I never saw a woman behave better than you have to-night. The old stock—and I'm with the book from kiver to kiver. And now, Millie, let me say a word to you. Of course, I know exactly how you feel, and all that—how that you couldn't help yourself—but to-morrow mornin' after breakfast I would, if I was in your place, go right home and ask my father's forgiveness. I say if I was in your place, for if you do you won't have half so much to be sorry for, and in this life I hold that we're doin' our best when we do the fewest things to regret. What do you think?"
"I'm sorry I talked that way, and he's getting old, too. But I had a cause. He made me stay in the house, and he ought to remember that I am of the same blood he is and that it's awful to be humiliated. But there's one thing I'm going to do. When Alf's tried again, I'm going to tell them what Stuart said. I would have done it this time, but I was ashamed to say anything about it. I have been nearly crazy, but I'm awfully sorry that I talked that way. And, oh, suppose he were to die to-night? I never could forgive myself. I must go home now, Mr. Jucklin. Yes, I can't stay another minute. You'll go with me, won't you, Mr. Hawes?"