would, ye insult me worse than anybody's iver done in the whole o' me life, an' I 'll niver speak to ye again as long as I live." She choked down a sob, and with head erect turned and walked back to the house.
The two had had differences before, but never anything like this. Peter, his arms dropped limply at his side, stood watching her go, while the words she had spoken rang in his ears. Suddenly a lump rose in his throat, and he leaned his head against the horse's neck.
"Lord!" he whispered. "What have I done?"
The week which followed was one of outward indifference and inward misery to both. Annie mourned when alone, but under the eyes of the stables she flirted openly and without conscience with one of the painters who was opportunely engaged in re-staining the shingle roof of the Jasper house. Peter watched her with a heavy heart, and formed a brave determination never to think of her again, and
