life; and in the gloom of her eyes you might have read more despair
than hope.

He shuffled his position. He shuffled in his words.

"What is it you ask? My sister has said many things."

"I ask you," said Susan, trying to give a crystal clearness both to
her expressions and her pronunciation, "if, knowing as you do how
Will is afflicted, you will help me to take that charge of him which
I promised my mother on her death-bed that I would do; and which
means, that I shall keep him always with me, and do all in my power
to make his life happy. If you will do this, I will be your wife; if
not, I remain unwed."

"But he may get dangerous; he can be but a trouble; his being here is
a pain to you, Susan, not a pleasure."

"I ask you for either yes or no," said she, a little contempt at his
evading her question mingling with her tone. He perceived it, and it
nettled him.

"And I have told you. I answered your question the last time I was
here. I said I would ne'er keep house with an idiot; no more I will.
So now you've gotten your answer."

"I have," said Susan. And she sighed deeply.

"Come, now," said Mrs. Gale, encouraged by the sigh; "one would think
you don't love Michael, Susan, to be so stubborn in yielding to what