nd retorted, "You
won't--you won't leave that miserable cur--that--that woman hunting
dog--won't leave--"

The father's rage sputtered on his lips, but the daughter caught his
hand as it was beating his cane on the floor. "Stop, father," she said
gently, "it's something more than women that's wrong with Tom. Women are
merely an outward and visible sign--it's what he believes--and what he
does, living his creed--always following the material thing. As a judge
I thought he would see his way--must see his way to bring justice
here--" She looked into the fume stained sky above South Harvey, and
Foley and Magnus, far down the valley, and tightened her grip on her
father's hands. "But no--no," she cried, "Tom doesn't know justice--he
only sees the law, the law and profits, and prosperity--only the eternal
material. He sits by and sees the company settle for four and five
hundred dollars for the lives of the men it wasted in the mine--yes,
more than sits by--he stands at the door of justice and drives the
widows and children into a settlement like an overseer. And he and Joe
Calvin have some sort of real estate partnership--Oh--I know it's
dishonest, though I don't know how. But it branches so secretly into the
law and it all reaches down into politics. And the whole order here,
father--Daniel Sands paying for politics, paying for government that
makes the laws, paying for mayors and governors that enforce the laws
and paying the judges to back them up--and all that poverty and
wretchedness and wickedness down there and all this beauty and luxury
and material happiness up here. It's all, all wrong, father." Her voice
broke again in sobs, and tears were running down her cheeks as she
continued. "How can we blame Tom for violating his vows to me? Where are
all our vows to God to deal justly with His people--the widows and
orphans and helpless ones, father?" She looked at her father through her
tears, at her father, whose face was agape! He was staring into the
wistaria vines as one who saw his world quaking. A quick bolt of
sympathy shot through the daughter's heart. She patted his limp hands
and said softly, "So--father--I mustn't leave Tom. He's a poor, weak
creature--a rotten stick--and because I know it--I must stay with him!"

* * * * *

Behind the screen of matter, the lusty fates were pulling at the screws
of the rack. "Pull harder," cried the first fate; "the little old
pot-b