nd was tormenting him.

She was roused from her musings by Eliza's voice:

"What can be the matter with Martin?" she said in a tense whisper. "He
never said a word. Here I was shakin' in my shoes, dreadin' every minute
to have him launch out in one of his tirades. You could 'a' knocked me
over when he didn't do it."

"Maybe he's goin' to wait until to-morrow," Mary replied.

"No. He never waits," Eliza declared. "When he's mad he lets fly while his
temper is up. You know that as well as I do. There's no coolin' off with
him an' then warmin' up the leavin's of his rage the next mornin'. He
believes in servin' things hot an' fresh."

"I never knew him to be so sort of cowed down," reflected Mary. "You don't
s'pose he's sick, do you, Jane?"

Mary turned anxious eyes toward her sister.

"Of course not," Jane retorted promptly. "Don't go worryin', Mary, an'
start to brew him some thoroughwort in the hope of havin' him down with a
fever."

"I don't hope he'll have a fever," objected Mary in an injured tone.

Jane laughed.

"Now you know you'd love to have Martin sick so you could take care of
him," said Jane provokingly. "Don't deny it."

"Jane Howe!"

"Well, you would. But he isn't sick, Mary. He's just tired. I wouldn't
bother him about it if I was you. He hates bein' fussed over."

A sudden light of understanding had broken in on Jane's soul.

It came like a revelation, in an intuitive flash, backed neither by
evidence nor by logic. Had she tried to give a reason for the astonishing
conviction that overwhelmed her, she could not have done so. Nevertheless
she was as certain of it as she was that the night would follow the day.
Martin was neither hungry, angry, tired, worried, nor ill.

_He was in love!_

CHAPTER X

A TEMPTATION

Martin was indeed in love! Before a week had passed no one knew it better
than he.

During the solitary hours when his hands were busy thinning lettuce or
weeding young corn, his mind had abundant leisure for reflection, and the
theme on which his thoughts turned with increasing activity was always the
same. Defy Fate as he would, he faced the realization that he loved Lucy
Webster with every fiber of his being.

It was a mad and hopeless affection,--one which, for the sake of his own
peace of mind if for no other reason, it would be wiser to strangle at its
birth. Nevertheless, he did not strangle it; on the contrary, he hugged
the romance to his breast and fed it