dropped the axe-handle to the floor and raised his head. "It was so very
long ago, yet I remember it distinctly, the day, the time, every detail.
We were in a rose garden, you and I,--your mother's rose garden. All
things were budding, blossoming, and the sap of spring was in our blood.
And I drew you over--it was the first--and kissed you full on the lips.
Don't you remember?"

"Don't go over it, Dave, don't! I know every shameful line of it. How
often have I wept! If you only knew how I have suffered--"

"You promised me then--ay, and a thousand times in the sweet days that
followed. Each look of your eyes, each touch of your hand, each syllable
that fell from your lips, was a promise. And then--how shall I
say?--there came a man. He was old--old enough to have begotten you--and
not nice to look upon, but as the world goes, clean. He had done no
wrong, followed the letter of the law, was respectable. Further, and to
the point, he possessed some several paltry mines,--a score; it does not
matter: and he owned a few miles of lands, and engineered deals, and
clipped coupons. He--"

"But there were other things," she interrupted, "I told you.
Pressure--money matters--want--my people--trouble. You understood the
whole sordid situation. I could not help it. It was not my will. I was
sacrificed, or I sacrificed, have it as you wish. But, my God! Dave, I
gave you up! You never did _me_ justice. Think what I have gone
through!"

"It was not your will? Pressure? Under high heaven there was no thing
to will you to this man's bed or that."