expect now, that—for your sake as much as hers or mine—you will behave towards her at parting in such a way that the servants may find no suggestions of gossip or slander."
"And if I don't choose to obey you?"
"I am not commanding. I propose a course which your own mind must find sensible. You have 'a deuced sharp intellect,' as your father said, on our wedding-day."
Joseph bit his tongue: he felt that he might have omitted this sting. But he was so little accustomed to victory, that he did not guess how thoroughly he had already conquered.
"Pa loved me, nevertheless," she said, and burst into tears.
Her emotion seemed real, but he mistrusted it.
"What can I do?" she sobbed: "I will try. I thought I was your wife, but I am not much more than your slave."
The foolish pity again stole into Joseph's heart, although he set his teeth and clenched his hands against it. "I am going for the horse," he said, in a kinder tone. "When I come back from this drive, this afternoon, I hope I shall find you willing to discuss our situation dispassionately, as I mean to do. We have not known each other fairly before to-day, and our plan of life must be rearranged."
It was a relief to walk forth, across the silent, sunny fields; and Joseph had learned to accept a slight relief as a substitute for happiness. The feeling that the inevitable crisis was over, gave him, for the first time in months, a sense of liberation. There was still a dreary and painful task before him, and he hardly knew why he should be so cheerful; but the bright, sweet currents of his blood were again in motion, and the weight upon his heart was lifted by some impatient, joyous energy.
The tempting vision of Philip's valley, which had haunted
