“Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her. She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm wavered. He thought of his severe attitude towards the girl who was rightly and with contempt refusing his measured help. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. He hated himself a little for it. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. "I beg pardon," he said. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well.
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