had come, but she was too innocent to feel them herself, and too proud to
accept the standards of others. He was absolutely honest and unworldly. He
thought it no treachery to love her for herself, and he believed, as most
of us do, that his family was as good as hers or any other.

It would be hard to explain the old man's obliviousness. Perhaps he had
forgotten his own youth; or class prejudice had gone so deep with him as
to preclude the bare thought of a child of his falling in love with one of
his "men." His imagination could not so insult his own blood. But when the
awakening came, his passion of anger and resentment knew no bounds. To
discharge his faithless employee out of hand would be the cripple throwing
away his crutch. Though he called Adam _one_ of his men, and though his
pay was that of a common laborer, his duties had long been of a much
higher order. Abraham had made a very good bargain out of the widow's son.
Adam knew well that he could not be spared, and pitied the old man's
helpless rage. He took his frantic insults as part of his senility, and
felt it no unmanliness to appease it by giving his promise that he would
speak no more of love to Emmy while he was taking her father's wages. But
Emmy did not indorse this promise fully. To her it looked like weakness,
and implied a sort of patience which did not become a lover such as she
wished hers to be. The winter wore on uncomfortably for all. Towards
spring, Becky's last illness and passing away brought the younger ones
together again, and closer than before. Adam kept his promise through days
and nights of sickroom intimacy; but though no word of love was spoken,
each bore silent witness to what was loveliest in the other, and the bond
between them deepened.

Then spring came, and its restlessness was strong upon them both. But it
was Emmy to whom it meant action and rebellion.