l that was in
her. If the farm were sold the money would all go into those gaping
black mouths and bottomless pits at Port Gorey. The home would be broken
up--an end of all things. It must not be.

"I should think many times before selling the farm if I were you," she
said quietly, and left it there for the moment.

But old Tom, having made up his mind, and the necessities of the case
pressing, lost no time over the matter.

"I've been speaking to John Guille about that business," he said, next
day, in a confidently casual way.

"About--?"

"About the farm. He'll give me six hundred pounds for it and take the
stock at what it's worth, and he's willing we should stop on as tenants
at fifty pounds a year rent."

His wife was ominously silent. He glanced at her doubtfully.

"I shall stop on as tenant for the present and Tom can go on working
it. When we reach the silver, and the money begins to come back, we can
decide what to do afterwards."

Still his wife said nothing, but her face was white and set. It was hard
for her to put herself in opposition to him, but here she found it
necessary. He was going too far.

It was only when the silence had grown ominous and painful, that she
said, slowly and with difficulty--

"I'm sorry to look like going against you, Tom, but I can't see it right
you should sell the farm."

"It'll make no difference to you and the young ones. I'll see to that."

"It's not right and you mustn't do it."

"Mustn't do it!--And it's as good as done!"

"It can't be done until your mother and I consent, and we can't see it's
a right thing to do."

"Can't you see that you're only saving the farm for Tom?" he argued
wrathfully, bottling his anger as well as he could. "It's nothing to you
and the young ones in any case."

"I know, but all the same it's not right. If it was to buy another farm
it would be different, for you could leave it as you choose. But to
throw away the money on those mines--"

This was a lapse from diplomacy and old Tom resented it.

"Throw the money away!" he shouted, casting all restraint to the winds.
"Who's going to throw the money away? It's like you women. You never can
see beyond the ends of your noses. I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll pay
you out your dower right in hard cash. Will that satisfy you?"

If he died she would have a life interest in one-third of the farm, but
could not, of course, will it to Nance or Bernel. If he sold the farm
and paid her