"It is your father," she said, in a voice almost inaudible, and as she
spoke, the rider leaped from the shadow of the trees. He drew his horse
up before the porch with a jerk and threw himself from the saddle. As he
came up the steps, I saw that his face was strangely flushed and his eyes
gleaming in a way that made me shiver. I felt my mother's arm about me
trembling as she drew me closer to her.

"Well, it's over," he said, flinging himself down upon the upper step,
"and damme if I'm sorry. Anything's better than living here in the woods
like a lump on a log."

"What do you mean is over, Tom?" asked my mother very quietly.

"I mean our possession of this place is over. Since an hour ago, it has
belonged to Squire Blakesley, across the river."

"You mean you have gambled it away?"

"If you choose to call it that," said my father ungraciously, and he
turned his back to us and gazed gloomily out over the water.

For a moment there was silence.

"Since we no longer possess this place," said my mother at last, "I
suppose you intend to forget your foolish anger against your father, and
claim your patrimony?"

"Foolish or not," he cried, "I have sworn never to take it until it is
offered to me, and I mean to keep my word!"