she had heard what it
was for, what kind of boys and girls lived there. But the
jail--she had seen the jail, back behind the courthouse, with
its air of mystery and of horror. Not Hell itself seemed such a
frightful thing as that jail.

"Well--which do you choose?" said her uncle in a sharp voice.

The girl shivered. "I don't care what happens to me," she said,
and her voice was dull and sullen and hard.

"And it doesn't much matter," sneered Warham. Every time he
looked at her his anger flamed again at the outrage to his love,
his trust, his honor, and the impending danger of more
illegitimacy. "Marrying Jeb will give you a chance to reform and
be a good woman. He understands--so you needn't be afraid of
what he'll find out."

"I don't care what happens to me," the girl repeated in the same
monotonous voice.

Warham rose. "I'll send your Aunt Sallie," said he. "And when I
call, she'll bring you down."

The girl's silence, her non-resistance the awful expression of
her still features--made him uneasy. He went to the window
instead of to the door. He glanced furtively at her; but he
might have glanced openly as there wasn't the least danger of
meeting her eyes. "You're marrying about as well as you could
have hoped to, anyhow--better, probably," he observed, in an
argumentative, defensive tone. "Zeke says Jeb's about the
likeliest young fellow he knows--a likelier fellow than either
Zeke or I was at his age. I've given him two thousand dollars in
cash. That ought to start you off well." And he went out without
venturing another look at her. Her youth and helplessness, her
stony misery, were again making it harder for him to hold
himself to what he and the fanatic Zeke had decided to be his
duty as a Christian, as a father, as a guardian. Besides, he did
not dare face his wife and his daughter until the whole business
was settled respectably and finally.
His sister-in-law was waiting in the next room. As soon as his
descent cleared the way she hurried in. From the threshold she
glanced at the girl; what she saw sent her hurrying out to
recompose herself. But the instant she again saw that expression
of mute and dazed despair the tears fought for release. The
effort to suppress outward signs of pity made her plain fat face
grotesque. She could not speak. With a corner of her apron she
wiped imaginary dust from the glass bells that protected the
artificial flowers. The poor child! And all