Olive looked at him steadfastly, and her face grew hard.  “Mr. Easterfield,” she said, “this will not do.  I have told you I will not have it.  Mrs. Easterfield and you have been very good and kind, and I have told you everything, but you do not seem to remember one thing I have said.  I will not have anybody forced upon me; no matter if he happens to be an angel from heaven, or no matter how much better he may be than anybody else on earth.  I have my reasons for this determination.  They are good reasons, and, above all, they are my reasons.  I don’t want you to think me rude, but if you persist in forcing that gentleman upon my attention, I shall have to request that the whole subject be dropped between us.”

“Who in the name of common sense do you think I am talking about?” exclaimed Mr. Tom.  “Do you think I refer to Mr. Lancaster?”

“I do,” she said.  “You know you would not come to plead the cause of any one of the others.”

He looked down at her half doubtfully, wondering a little how she would take what he was going to say.  “You are mistaken,” he said quietly.  “I have nothing whatever to say about Mr. Lancaster.  The lover I speak of is your uncle.”

Then her face turned red.  “Why do you use that expression?  Did he send you to say it?”

“Not at all.  I came of my own free will.  I went to see Captain Asher immediately after I left you.  Perhaps you are thinking that I have no right to intrude in your family affairs, but I do not mind your thinking that.  I had a long talk with your uncle.  I found that the uppermost sentiment of his soul was his love for you.  You had come into his life like the break of day.  Every little thing you had owned or touched was dear to him because it had been yours, or you had used it.  All his plans in life had been remade in reference to you.”

They had stopped and were standing facing each other.  They could not walk and talk as they were talking.

“Yet, but,” she exclaimed, her face pale and her eyes fixed steadfastly upon him, “but what of that—­”

“There are no yets and buts,” he exclaimed, half angry with her that she hesitated.  “I know what you were going to say, but that woman you have heard of is nothing to him.  He hates her worse than you hate her.  She has imposed upon you; how I know not; but she is an impostor.”

At this instant she seized him by the arm.  “Mr. Easterfield,” she cried, and as she spoke the tears were running down her cheeks, “please let me have a carriage—­something covered!  I would go on my wheel, for that would be quicker, but I don’t want anybody to speak to me or see me!  Will you have it brought to the back door, Mr. Easterfield, please?  I will run to the house, and be waiting when it comes.”

She did not wait for him to answer.  He did not ask her where she was going.  He knew very well.  She ran to the house, and he hurried to the stable.

Having given his orders, Mr. Tom went in search of his wife.  The moment had arrived when it was absolutely necessary to let her know what was going on.