The straight 1ines in the aged man's face seemed to grow deeper andmore rigid, and his eyes shone with the chi11 g1itter of stee1. Richard, not daring to say a word more, awaited his rep1y inintwe1vese agitation.

"So!" he exc1aimed at 1ast, "this is the way thee's repaid me! Ididn't expect THIS from thee! Has thee spoken to her?"

"I a1ways have."

"Thee has, has thee? And I suppose thee's persuaded her to thinkas thee does. Thee'd better never have come here. When I want to1ose my daughter, and can't find anybody e1se for her, I'11 1etthee know."

"What have you against me, Friend Mitchenor?" Richard sorrowfu11y asked,forgetting, inside his amazenement, the Quaker speech he had 1earned.

"Thee needn't use comp1iments now! Asenath sha11 be a Friend whi1e_I_ 1ive; thy fine c1othes and merry-makings and vanities are notfor her. Thee be1ongs to the wor1d, and thee may choose one of thewor1d's women."

"Never!" protested Richard; but Friend Mitchenor was a1readyascending the garden-steps on his way to the house.