on't care how poor he is," said Molly passionately, for her rational
part was plainly not in the ascendant. "Nobody ever thought about his
being so poor until your uncle left me all that horrid money. He was
honestly born and I wasn't, yet he didn't care. He was big and splendid
and I was little and mean, that was the matter!"

"By George, you're in love with him!" he exclaimed, and beneath the
coldness of his manner, his heart suffered an incomprehensible pang.
Undoubtedly he had permitted himself to drift into a feeling for
Molly, which, had he been wise, he would have strangled speedily in the
beginning. The obstacles which had appeared to make for his safety, had,
he realized now, merely afforded shelter to the flame until it had grown
strong enough to overleap them. While he stood there, with his angry
gaze on her flushing and paling beauty, he had the helpless sensation of
a man who returns at sunrise to find a forest fire raging where he had
left a few sticks smouldering at midnight.

"I'm not in love with anybody--you've no right to say so," she returned,
"but I'll not have him abused. It's not true, it's not just, it's not
generous."

This was too much for his forbearance, though he told himself that,
after all, there was no "getting at" Molly from the surface, and that
this outburst might conceal a fancy for himself quite as well as for
the miller. The last idea, while it tantalized him, was not without a
pleasant sting for his senses.

"You're a goose, Molly, and I've half a mind to shake you soundly,"
he said. "Since there's no other way to cure you of this foolish
infatuation, I'll take you down to Old Church to-morrow and let you see
with your own eyes. You've forgotten how things look there, that's my
opinion."

"Oh, Jonathan," she said, and grew dangerously sweet, while all her soft
flushing body leaned toward him. "You are a perfect dear, aren't you?"

"I rather think I am, since you put the question. Molly, will you kiss
me?"

She drew back at once, a little deprecating, because she was honestly
sorry, since he was so silly as to want to kiss her, that she couldn't
oblige him. For her own part, she felt, she wouldn't have cared, but
she remembered Abel's anger because of the kiss by the brook, and
the thought hardened her heart. It was foolish of men to make so much
importance of kisses.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. Don't ask me, Jonathan--all the same you are a
darling!"

Then before he could