“I’d rather have died!” she muttered between clinched teeth.
“Yes, you would,” retorted Lucy. “You would rather have gone down to your grave with bitterness in your soul and a curse upon your lips than to have accepted aid from Martin Howe. You would not have helped him had he been in trouble. You would have been glad to see him suffer—glad!”
The woman listened as if spellbound.
“But Martin Howe is too much of a Christian for that. Yes, you can sneer. He is a Christian and a gentleman. You are not worthy to touch the ground beneath his feet. He would not leave you without help. Since you have been ill, he has given part of each day to working in your garden; and he is busy and tired, too. He’s done it that your crops might not fail. It is Martin Howe that you have to 228 thank for your harvest, whether you like it or not—Martin Howe!”
Breathlessly she paused.
“You seem to have a terrible high opinion of Martin Howe,” scoffed Ellen, with scathing sarcasm.
“I have.”
“Likely you’re in love with him,” jibed the tormentor.
“Yes, I love him.”
The simple confession came proudly from the girl’s lips.