Part 7 (2/2)
”I should think many times before selling the farm if I were you,” she said quietly, and left it there for the moment.
But old Tom, having made up his mind, and the necessities of the case pressing, lost no time over the matter.
”I've been speaking to John Guille about that business,” he said, next day, in a confidently casual way.
”About--?”
”About the farm. He'll give me six hundred pounds for it and take the stock at what it's worth, and he's willing we should stop on as tenants at fifty pounds a year rent.”
His wife was ominously silent. He glanced at her doubtfully.
”I shall stop on as tenant for the present and Tom can go on working it. When we reach the silver, and the money begins to come back, we can decide what to do afterwards.”
Still his wife said nothing, but her face was white and set. It was hard for her to put herself in opposition to him, but here she found it necessary. He was going too far.
It was only when the silence had grown ominous and painful, that she said, slowly and with difficulty--
”I'm sorry to look like going against you, Tom, but I can't see it right you should sell the farm.”
”It'll make no difference to you and the young ones. I'll see to that.”
”It's not right and you mustn't do it.”
”Mustn't do it!--And it's as good as done!”
”It can't be done until your mother and I consent, and we can't see it's a right thing to do.”
”Can't you see that you're only saving the farm for Tom?” he argued wrathfully, bottling his anger as well as he could. ”It's nothing to you and the young ones in any case.”
”I know, but all the same it's not right. If it was to buy another farm it would be different, for you could leave it as you choose. But to throw away the money on those mines--”
This was a lapse from diplomacy and old Tom resented it.
”Throw the money away!” he shouted, casting all restraint to the winds.
”Who's going to throw the money away? It's like you women. You never can see beyond the ends of your noses. I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll pay you out your dower right in hard cash. Will that satisfy you?”
If he died she would have a life interest in one-third of the farm, but could not, of course, will it to Nance or Bernel. If he sold the farm and paid her her lawful third in cash, she could do what she chose with it. It was therefore distinctly to her own interest to fall in with his plan.
But, dearly as she would have liked to make some provision, however small, for Nance and Bernel, her whole Sark soul was up in arms against the idea of selling the farm.
It would feel like a break-up of life. Nothing, she was sure, would ever be the same again.
”It's not right,” she said simply.
”You're a fool--” and then the look on her quiet face--such a look as she might have worn if he had struck her--penetrated the storm-cloud of his anger. He remembered her years of wifely patience and faithful service, ”--a foolish woman. A Sark wife should know which side of her bread the b.u.t.ter is on. Can't you see--”
”I know all that, Tom, but I hope you'll give up this notion of selling the farm. Your mother feels just as I do about it. We've talked it over--”
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