“Yes, Miss Mary,” said James huskily.  “I think I may say we’ve settled to go.  Hamlyn has got a letter from a cousin of his, who is making a fortune; and besides, I’ve got tired of the old place somehow lately.”

Time went on, and May was well advanced.  That had at last reached the vicar’s ears which had driven him to risk a quarrel with his daughter and forbid George Hawker the house.

George went home one evening and found Madge, the gipsy woman who had brought him up, sitting before the kitchen fire.

“Well, old woman, where’s the old man?”

“Away at Colyton fair,” she answered.

“I hope he’ll have the sense to stay there to-night He’ll fall off his horse, coming home drunk one night, and be found dead in a ditch.”

“Good thing for you if he was.”

“Maybe,” said George; “but I’d be sorry for him, too.”

“He’s been a good father to you, George, and I like you for speaking up for him.  He’s an awful old rascal, my boy, but you’ll be a worse if you live.”

“Now stop that, Madge!  I want your help, old girl.”

“Ay, and you’ll get it, my pretty boy.  Bend over the fire, and whisper in my ear, lad.”

“Madge, old girl,” he whispered, “I’ve wrote the old man’s name where I oughtn’t to have done.”

“What, again!” she answered.  “Three times!  For God’s sake, George, mind what you’re at!  Why, you must be mad!  What’s this last?”

“Why, the five hundred.  I only did it twice.”

“You mustn’t do it again, George.  He likes you best of anything next his money, and sometimes I think he wouldn’t spare you if he knew he’d been robbed.  You might make yourself safe for any storm if you liked.”

“How?”

“Marry that little doll Thornton, and get her money.”

“Well,” said George, “I am pushing that on.  The old man won’t come round, and I want her to go off with me; but she can’t get up her courage yet.”

But in a few days Mary had consented.  They had left the village at midnight, and were married in London.  Within a year George Hawker had spent all his wife’s money, and had told her to her face he was tired of her.  He fell from bad to worse, and finally becoming the ally of a coiner, was arrested and transported for life.

Mary Hawker, with a baby, tramped her way home to the village she had left.

II.—­A General Exodus

The vicar had only slowly recovered from the fit in which he had fallen on the morning of Mary’s departure, to find himself hopelessly paralytic.  When Mary’s letter, written just after her marriage, came, it was a great relief.  They had kept from him all knowledge of George Hawker’s forgery, which had been communicated to them by Major Buckley, old John Thornton’s very good friend and near neighbour.

But George’ Hawker burnt the loving letters they wrote in reply, and Mary remained under the impression that they had cast her off.  So when, one bright Sunday morning, old Miss Thornton found a poor woman sitting on the doorstep, Mary rose, prepared to ask forgiveness.  Her aunt rushed forward wildly, and hugged her to her honest heart.