Suppose I tell him
I've been," bitterly, "a crook and a jailbird; what will HE think
of me--as a son-in-law? And now suppose he was fool enough to
consent--which isn't supposable--how could I stay here, working for
him, sponging a living from him, with this thing hanging over us
all? No, I can't--I can't. Whatever else happens I can't do that.
And I can't go on as I am--or I won't. Now what am I going to do?"
He had risen and was pacing the floor. Jed asked a question.
"What does your sister want you to do?" he asked.
"Ruth? Oh, as I told you, she thinks of no one but me. How
dreadful it would be for me to tell of my Middleford record! How
awful if I lost my position in the bank! Suppose they discharged
me and the town learned why! I've tried to make her see that,
compared to the question of Maud, nothing else matters at all, but
I'm afraid she doesn't see it as I do. She only sees--me."
"Her brother. Um . . . yes, I know."
"Yes. Well, we talked and talked, but we got nowhere. So at last
I said I was coming out to thank you for what you did to save me,
Jed. I could hardly believe it then; I can scarcely believe it
now. It was too much for any man to do for another. And she said
to talk the whole puzzle out with you. She seems to have all the
confidence on earth in your judgment, Jed. She is as willing to
leave a decision to you, apparently, as you profess to be to leave
one to your wooden prophet up on the shelf there; what's-his-name--
er--Isaiah.
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