He was hoarse with feeling, and held out his hand pleadingly. To him it seemed that his daughter was mad; that she was throwing her life away.
"I mean that, father," she answered quietly. "There are things worth more than money."
"You don't mean to say that you can love him as he is. It isn't natural. But no, it isn't!"
"What would you have said if anyone had asked you if you loved my mother that last year of her life, when she was a cripple, and we wheeled her about in a chair you made for her!"
"Don't say any more," he said slowly, and took up his hat, and kept turning it round in his hand. "But you'll prevent him getting into trouble with the Gover'ment?" he urged at last.
"I have done what I could," she answered. Then with a little gasp: "They came to arrest him a fortnight ago, but I said they should not enter the house. Havel and I prevented them—refused to let them enter. The men did not know what to do, and so they went back. And now this—!" she pointed to where the soldiers were pitching their tents in the valley below. "Since then Louis has done nothing to give trouble. He only writes and dreams. If he would but dream and no more!" she added half under her breath.
"We've dreamt too much in Pontiac already," said Lajeunesse, shaking his head.
Madelinette reached up her hand and laid it on his shaggy black hair. "You are a good little father, big smithy-man!" she said lovingly. "You make me think of the strong men in the Niebelungen legends. It must be a big horse that will take you to Walhalla with the heroes," she added.
