If you'll give me your word of honor
that I haven't--I can only beg your forgiveness for having intruded upon
you, and for my rudeness in speaking as I did."
She turned again slowly, and faced him. He wondered if it was the unshed
tears that made her eyes so soft.
"You have a right," she said, "and _I_ shouldn't have spoken as I did.
You were fair, and I wasn't, as usual. I'll tell you. And will you
promise me just to--to give this little slip of paper to your father--and
never refer to the matter again, or let him?"
"I promise."
"Well, then," she went on hurriedly, "about a month ago I bought the
mortgage on this farm. It seemed to me the only thing that stood in the
way of your prosperity now--it hung around your father's neck like a
millstone--just the thought that he couldn't feel that this wonderful
old place was wholly his, the last years of his life, and that he
couldn't leave it intact for you and Thomas and your children after you
when he died. So I made up my mind it should be destroyed to-day, as my
real Christmas present to you all.
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