"Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly. “You are magnificent,” she said, “but the steel of your truth is a little oversharpened. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. All other things were without weight or consequence before the fact that this poor young man would have to depend upon her for his life. Divide the money between you, and wear the ornaments for my sake. That was an admission all right. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. ‘I want a word with you, my lad.
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