Rachel passed the paper across the table in silence.
The room seemed to her to have grown very still.
She could hear the flies buzzing on the panes, the
soft purr of the wind about the low eaves and
through the apple boughs, the jerky beating of her
own heart. She felt frightened and nervous, but
resolute.
Mrs. Spencer glanced down the list, murmuring the names aloud and nodding approval at each. But when she came to the last name, she did not utter it. She cast a black glance at Rachel, and a spark leaped up in the depths of her pale eyes. On her face were anger, amazement, incredulity, the last predominating.
The final name on the list of wedding guests was the name of David Spencer. David Spencer lived alone in a little cottage down at the Cove. He was a combination of sailor and fisherman. THe was also Isabella Spencer’s husband and Rachel’s father.
“Rachel Spencer, have you taken leave of your senses? What do you mean by such nonsense as this?”
“I simply mean that I am going to invite my father to my wedding,” answered Rachel quietly.
“Not in my house,” cried Mrs. Spencer, her lips as white as 1f her fiery tone had scathed them.
Rachel leaned forward, folded her large, capable hands deliberately on the table, and gazed unflinch-
