aylight to dark, in the fields and the dairy. Best send her back to
her fine friends in London."

"Ay," said Jacob, glancing up with a brazen smile into Greeba's
face, "or marry her straight off--that is the shortest way. I heard
a little bird tell of someone who might have her. Don't look
astonished, Miss, for I make no doubt you know who it is. He is away
on the mountains now, but he'll be home before long."

Greeba's eyes glistened, but not a muscle of her countenance changed.
Only she clutched at the back of her father's chair and clung to it.
And Adam, struggling hard to master the emotion that made his whole
body to sway and tremble in his seat, said slowly, "If she is not
your sister, at least she is your mother's daughter, and a mother
knows what that means." Then turning to Mrs. Fairbrother, who still
stood apart with her housewife's apron to her eyes, he said, "Ruth,
the child is your daughter, and by that deed you speak of she is
entitled to her share of all that is here----"

"Yes," said Mrs. Fairbrother, sharply, "but only when I am done with
it."

"Even so," said Adam, "would you see the child want before that, or
drive her into any marriage, no matter what?"

"I will take her," said Mrs. Fairbrother deliberately, "on one
condition."

"What is it, Ruth?" said Adam; "name it, that I may grant it."

"That you shall give up all control of her, and that she shall give
up all thought of you."

"What?"

"That you shall never again expect to see her or hear from her, or
hold commerce of any kind with her."

"But why? Why?"

"Because I may have certain plans for her future welfare that you
might try to spoil."

"Do they concern Michael Sunlocks?"

"No, indeed," said Mrs. Fairbrother, with a toss of the head.

"Then they concern young Jason, the Icelander," said Adam.

"If so, it is _my_ concernment," said Mrs. Fairbrother.

"And that is your condition?"

"Yes."

"And you ask me to part from her forever? Think of it, she is my only
daughter. She has been the light of my eyes. You have never loved her
as I have loved her. You know it is the truth. And you ask me to see
her no more, and never more to hear from her. Now, God punish you for
this, you cold-hearted woman!"

"Take care, sir. Fewer words, or mayhap I will recall my offer. If
you are wise you will be calm for the girl's sake."

"You are right," he said, with his head down. "It is not for me to
take the bread out of my child's mou