‘But if it be the case that they are in truth man and wife—­’

‘In the sight of God they are not so,’ she said.

‘Then,’ he continued, trying to put aside her interruption, and to go on with the assertion he had commenced, ’it must be our duty to acknowledge him for her sake.  Were we not to do so, we should stand condemned in the opinion of all the world.’

‘Who cares for the opinion of the world?’

‘And we should destroy her happiness.’

’Her happiness here on earth!  What does that matter?  There is no such happiness.’

It was a very hard fight, but perhaps not harder than he had expected.  He had known that she would not listen to reason,—­that she would not even attempt to understand it.  And he had learned before this how impregnable was that will of fanaticism in which she would entrench herself,—­how improbable it was that she would capitulate under the force of any argument.  But he thought it possible that he might move his father to assert himself.  He was well aware that, in the midst of that apparent lethargy, his father’s mind was at work with much of its old energy.  He understood the physical infirmities and religious vacillation which, combined, had brought the old man into his present state of apparent submission.  It was hardly two years since the same thing had been done in regard to Hester’s marriage.  Then Mr. Bolton had asserted himself, and declared his will in opposition to his wife.  There had indeed been much change in him since that time, but still something of the old fire remained.  ‘I have thought it to be my duty, sir,’ he said, ’to make known to you William’s opinion and my own.  I say nothing as to social intercourse.  That must be left to yourself.  But if this pardon be granted, you will, I think, be bound to acknowledge John Caldigate to be your son-in-law.’

‘Your father agrees with me,’ said Mrs. Bolton, rising from her chair, and speaking in an angry tone.

’I hope you both will agree with me.  As soon as tidings of the pardon reach you, you should, I think, intimate to Hester that you accept her marriage as having been true and legal.  I shall do so, even though I should never see him in my house again.’

‘You of course will do as you please.’

‘And you, sir?’ he said, appealing to the old man.

‘You have no right to dictate to your father,’ said the wife angrily.

‘He has always encouraged me to offer him my advice.’  Then Mr. Bolton shuffled in his chair, as though collecting himself for an effort,—­and at last sat up, with his head, however, bent forward, and with both his arms resting on the arms of his chair.  Though he looked to be old, much older than he was, still there was a gleam of fire in his eye.  He was thin, almost emaciated, and his head hung forward as though there were not strength left in his spine for him to sit erect.  ’I hope, sir, you do not think that I have gone beyond my duty in what I have said.’