ce its way. He did not think it out like that,
for his mind was not strictly analytic--however his ideas were to that
effect, which is all that need be said about them.

"Every word of it is true," the girl said, gently; "father, I have
done every word of what they say, except about knocking down Captain
Carroway. I have promised to marry Robin Lyth, by-and-by, when you agree
to it."

Stephen Anerley's ruddy cheeks grew pale, and his blue eyes glittered
with amazement. He stared at his daughter till her gaze gave way; and
then he turned to his wife, to see whether she had heard of it. "I told
you so," was all she said; and that tended little to comfort him. But he
broke forth into no passion, as he might have done with justice and some
benefit, but turned back quietly and looked at his Mary, as if he were
saying, once for all, "good-by."

"Oh, don't, father, don't," the girl answered with a sob; "revile me, or
beat me, or do anything but that. That is more than I can bear."

"Have I ever reviled you? Have I ever beaten you?"

"Never--never once in all my life. But I beg you--I implore of you to do
it now. Oh, father, perhaps I have deserved it."

"You know best what you deserve. But no bad word shall you have of me.
Only you must be careful for the future never to call me 'father.'"

The farmer forgot all his visitors, and walked, without looking at
anybody, toward the porch. Then that hospitable spot re-awakened his
good manners, and he turned and smiled as if he saw them all sitting
down to something juicy.

"My good friends, make yourselves at home," he said; "the mistress will
see to you while I look round. I shall be back directly, and we will
have an early supper."

But when he got outside, and was alone with earth and sky, big tears
arose into his brave blue eyes, and he looked at his ricks, and his
workmen in the distance, and even at the favorite old horse that
whinnied and came to have his white nose rubbed, as if none of them
belonged to him ever any more. "A' would sooner have heard of broken
bank," he muttered to himself and to the ancient horse, "fifty times
sooner, and begin the world anew, only to have Mary for a little child
again."

As the sound of his footsteps died away, the girl hurried out of the
room, as if she were going to run after him; but suddenly stopped in
the porch, as she saw that he scarcely even cared to feel the cheek of
Lightfoot, who made a point of rubbing up his master'