He did not stay long after that, for it was late.
As he passed through the gate, after a tender fare-
well, Annie watched him with shining eyes. She
was now to be all alone, but two things she
had, her freedom and her love, and they would
suffice.
The next morning Silas Hempstead, urged by his
daughters, walked solemnly over to the next house,
but he derived little satisfaction. Annie did not
absolutely refuse to speak. She had begun to realize
that carrying out her resolution to the extreme letter
was impossible. But she said as little as she could.
"I have come over here to live for the present.
I am of age, and have a right to consult my own
wishes. My decision is unalterable." Having said
this much, Annie closed her mouth and said no
more. Silas argued and pleaded. Annie sat placidly
sewing beside one front window of the sunny sitting-
room. Effie, with a bit of fancy-work, sat at another.
Finally Silas went home defeated, with a last word,
half condemnatory, half placative. Silas was not the
sort to stand firm against such feminine strength as
his daughter Annie's. However, he secretly held
her dearer than all his other children.
After her father had gone, Annie sat taking even
stitch after even stitch, but a few tears ran over her
cheeks and fell upon the soft mass of muslin.
Pages:
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350