They became aware of the waitress standing over them with book and pencil ready for their bill. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. Three short days. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel. Look at it, I say. Wood, despair will come over me; and, dear as this babe is to me, far dearer than my own wretched life, which I would lay down for him any minute, I have prayed to Heaven to remove him, rather than he should grow up to be a man, and be exposed to his father's temptations—rather than he should live as wickedly and die as disgracefully as his father.
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