They went back together and presented themselves to her astounded parents. Farmer Seagrave's hostility to the lad was lessened, as always, by his admiration for Ashgrave's great body and splended vigour. A mild sort of a giant himself, he had always felt that but for the other's devil of a temper, they might be good friends. The mother let her bitterness be heard.

"I allus knowed 't would come to this. When a man 's got the power, he don't let a woman alone fur long."

Amanda was pale, and the tide of excitement was making to its ebb. But the strong sense, the growth of generations, that marriage meant possession, came to sustain the weakening of that strange joy she had felt in his assertion that he wanted her, and she stood firm to her promise.

"After all, he is my husband," she said.

"Yes, 'cause he could 'nt help himself," snapped the mother. "You 're the fust gal in my family ever hed to marry a man.”

"Come, come, mother," interposed Seagrave, a little alarmed at evidences that his son-in-law was not disposed to let matters go too far, "it's the right thing, a'ter all. A woman's place is her husband's house, an' it'll be better for us all, I guess. Folks 'll furget sooner." "Thet won't help thar bein' so'thin' to furget," grumbled Mrs. Seagrave.

It needed, perhaps, just this strain of fault finding to nerve Amanda to the sacrifice she was making, by showing her the barrenness of what was. Surely there could be no worse to come, excepting in so far as there was worse in giving herself the solace of love, which counted for little, practically, in the light of all she had guessed of married life from the men and women among whom she had lived.

She and Ashgrave passed on to her chamber. She would have forbid him, had she not felt a little pity for him, born of her mother's querulous complaints. So she let him go, and each was struck with a strange shynest as they stood in the doorway of the little white chamber. Almost for the first time, he peeped into a nest that had been the abode of maiden purity and hope, and there was a dim, stirring sense, in a clumsy, masculine way, of his share in the desecration of this purity and whiteness. He felt too, as perhaps he could not without a glimpse into what had been an outgrowth of her maidenhood, the difference between her and other women to whom he had been drawn, and this, for him, had in it that which was virile to purify and hallow their future from the depth of grossness to which it was capable of descending.

But for her, too, there was a note in this original whiteness, sharply contrastive with his huge bulk, so instinct with masculinity, that made for question and final shame. She was sorry she had let him come thus far, for it seemed as if he was looking into the depths of her being, before he had earned the right, even if it could be that another might ever earn such right. She had a sense that until this moment, in spite of sin, she had clung to some part of virginhood and that now she fell again, in complete despoilment.

i When they left the house again, the mother flung after them a taunt, but Seagrave himself awaited them at the opening of the lane.

"I'm glad on it," he said, roughly, speaking as a man who has thoughts, but is not accustomed to give them tongue. "'T other way never did seem right tu me. A day hain't got to be all wrong, 'cause it starts wrong. I hain't never quite liked you, Joe, an' I don't say thet

I'll get over it, but you jest behave yourself an' treat the gal right, an' ef thar's ever enything I kin du to help you, you need n't be afeerd to call on me to du it."

Amanda threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was the first time she had done it for many a year, but somehow it seemed to give a human touch to the affair that was wanting before. Ashgrave felt this, and even had a glimpse of the need of some every-day wearing quality to the fabric of their life, that would stand usage after the gloss of passion had worn off.

"Whatever else I've done or hain't done, farmer," he said, "I've loved 'Mandy and nobody else. If she 'll give me a little love an' bear up with my contraptions, I guess we 'll make a go of it as good as most folks."

With this epithalamium they dipped into the darkness of the sunken path and hurried toward the farm.

When they came to the higher land again, a confused murmur opened on their ears, which grew louder and more strenuous. Through it voices broke, and at times shouts. They heard calls as of angry men, and then a cheer that sounded like a menace, coming from the throats of a throng of people.

"For God's sake, what 's that?" demanded Ashgrave, struck with sudden apprehension.

Seizing her by the waist and almost carrying her, he sped across the fields toward the house.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE MOB AT THE FARM

HE

ENRI'S sleep before the kitchen fire was broken by the sound of distant shouting which, recurring at intervals, seemed each time more near, breaking on the complete stillness that usually hung over the farm, with startling insistence.

He raised a window, and the shouts were louder and, seemingly, fell into words. The next time they burst out the words came clear and sharp:

"Down with the Papist! Death to Rome!

Babylon is fallen! Down with the Mother of Harlots! Down with the Papist!"

Many of the words were strange to his imperfect knowledge of English, but he had not forgotten the "Papist," spoken by Craig. A sudden sense of coming evil assailed him. There was not much of the fighter in his nature, and he wished that Ashgrave was at home.

Presently the shouting came from the space between the barn and the house, which was filled with men and boys: "The Papist! The Papist! Down with him! Trot him out! Give him a taste of Queen Mary!"

He cowered in the far corner of the room, filled with cowardly forebodings, dreading, he knew not what, hoping that Ashgrave would come.

There was a pounding at the doors and the call of men insistent upon entry. He had put the light out, but they had seen it as they came down the hill-road and called their knowledge.

Turn

"It's all right. You're thar all the same. out the Papist. Babylon, Babylon, Babylon has fallen. Give us a look at him! Trot him out o' town! Tar and feather him! Ride him on a rail! Down with the Papist!"

Some began to throw stones at the house, and now and then one came through the window and rattled across the floor, frightening still more the crouching boy.

There was a lull in the noise that gave a new turn to his fear; for he felt that they were consulting and would devise some way to get at him. He crept to the doors and made sure again of their fastenings.

The din and shouts rose anew, and a great rock was hurled against the door with a force that shook the house. There was a call for axes to break down the doors, and he heard them searching the woodshed. A stone was hurled through a window, carrying away half the upper sash. The fury and anger of the mob, which was not yet sufficient for close work, were growing with the heat of exercise and the encouragement of their shoutings.

Behind the cellar door sounded a step, which brought a smothered scream from the boy as the door flew open. Someone stood in the kitchen darkness and Ashgrave's voice bellowed out:

"What in hell does this mean? Henri, give us a light, quick! Has hell broken loose?"

"The windows are broken," whispered Henri, too frightened to speak aloud, "they'll see us if we light a lamp." "I'm not afraid to be seen in my own house," shouted Ashgrave. "Give us a light."

Henri obeyed, and saw Ashgrave standing, red and angry, with Amanda clinging to him frightened and trembling. They had come by the cellar-way from the barn.