Blackstock sat quite still for a time. At last he said gently:
"I do understand ye now, Mary."
"You don't," interrupted Mary.
"I felt, all along, I was somehow not good enough for you."
"You're a million miles too good for me," she interrupted again, energetically.
"But," he went on without heeding the protest, "I hoped, somehow, that I might be able to make you happy. An' that's what I want, more'n anything else in the world. All I have is at your feet, Mary, an' I could make' it more in time. But I'm not a big enough man for you. I'm all yours—an' always will be—but I can't make myself no more than I am."
"Yes, you could, Tug Blackstock," she cried. "Real men are scarce, in the great world and everywhere. You could make yourself a master anywhere—if only you would tear yourself loose from here."
He sprang up, and his arms went out as if to seize her. But, with an effort, he checked himself, and dropped them stiffly to his side.
"I'm too old to change my spots, Mary," said he. "I'm stamped for good an' all. I am some good here. I'd be no good there. An' I won't never resk bein' a drag on yer plans."
"You could—you could!" urged Mary almost desperately.