His sarcasm came from him like the sweat of anger; he did not seem to take any voluntary interest in the play of his words.  His manner was cool, but it was noticeable that he had stopped his work and was merely cutting a piece of wood with his jack-knife.  As she looked at him steadily he whittled the more savagely.

The other man laughed again, and wriggled as he laughed.

“No,” she replied, “you can’t come, I know; but I can take care of myself.”

“It’s a thieving, drunken lot of fellows Saul will fall in with.  Ye may prefer their society to mine, but I’ll not risk it.”

“I can go to the minister.”

“And his wife would make a kitchen-girl of ye, and ye’d run off from her in a week.  If ye’d not stay here, where ye have it all your own way, it’s not long that ye’d put up wi’ my lady’s fault-finding; and ministers and their wives isn’t much better than other folks—­I’ve told ye before what I think of that sort of truck.”

There was a glitter in her eyes that would have startled him, but he did not see it.  He was looking only at the wood he was cutting, but he never observed that he was cutting it.  After a minute he uttered his conclusion.

“Ye’ll stay wi’ me.”

“Stay with you,” she cried, her breath catching at her words—­“for how long?”

“I don’t know.”  Complete indifference was in his tone.  “Till ye’re old, I suppose; for I’m not likely to find a better place for ye.”

All the force of her nature was in the words she cast at him.

“I’ll not stay.”

“No?” he sneered in heavy, even irony.  “Will ye cry on the neighbours to fetch ye away?”

She did not need to turn her head to see the wild loneliness of hill and lake.  It was present to her mind as she leaned on the rough wooden lintel, looking into the shed.

“Or,” continued he, “will ye go a-visiting.  There’s the Indians camping other side o’ the mountain here “—­he jerked his head backward to denote the direction—­“and one that came down to the tree-cutting two weeks ago said there were a couple of wolves on the other hill.  I dare say either Indians or wolves would be quite glad of the pleasure o’ your company.”

She raised herself up and seemed suddenly to fill the doorway, so that both men looked up because much of their light was withdrawn.

“You’d not have dared to speak to me like this while father was alive.”

As a matter of fact the accusation was not true.  The father’s presence or absence would have made no difference to Bates had he been wrought up to the same pitch of anger; but neither he nor the girl was in a condition to know this.  He only replied: 

“That’s the reason I waited till he was dead.”

“If he hadn’t been hurt so sudden he wouldn’t have left me here."

“But he was hurt sudden, and he did leave ye here.”