lina went slowly down the street. She seldom walked abroad now,
but kept herself almost as secluded as her cousin had done before
her. But that night a great restlessness was upon her, and she put a
little black silk shawl over her shoulders and went out. It was quite
cool, although it was midsummer. The dusk was deepening fast; the
katydids called back and forth from the wayside bushes. Evelina met
nobody for some distance. Then she saw a man coming towards her, and
her heart stood still, and she was about to turn back, for she
thought for a minute it was the young minister. Then she saw it was
his father, and she went on slowly, with her eyes downcast. When she
met him she looked up and said good-evening, gravely, and would have
passed on, but he stood in her way.

"I've got a word to say to ye, if ye'll listen," he said.

Evelina looked at him tremblingly. There was something strained and
solemn in his manner. "I'll hear whatever you have to say, sir," she
said.

The old man leaned his pale face over her and raised a shaking
forefinger. "I've made up my mind to say something," said he. "I
don't know as I've got any right to, and maybe my son will blame me,
but I'm goin' to see that you have a chance. It's been borne in upon
me that women folks don't always have a fair chance. It's jest this
I'm goin' to say: I don't know whether you know how my son feels
about it or not. I don't know how open he's been with you. Do you
know jest why he quit you?"

Evelina shook her head. "No," she panted--"I don't--I never knew. He
said it was his duty."

"Duty can get to be an idol of wood and stone, an' I don't know but
Thomas's is," said the old man. "Well, I'll tell you. He don't think
it's right for him to marry you, and make you leave that big house,
and lose all that money. He don't care anything about it for himself,
but it's for you. Did you know that?"

Evelina grasped the old man's arm hard with her little fingers.

"You don't mean that--was why he did it!" she gasped.

"Yes, that was why."

Evelina drew away from him. She was ashamed to have Thomas's father
see the joy in her face. "Thank you, sir," she said. "I did not
understand. I--will write to him."

"Maybe my son will think I have done wrong coming betwixt him and his
idees of duty," said old Thomas Merriam, "but sometimes there's a
good deal lost for lack of a word, and I wanted you to have a fair
chance an' a fair say. It's been borne in upon me that