“He thinks he be gwaine to bide his time an’ let me stew an’ sweat for it,” said the man moodily.

“Awnly a born devil could tell such wickedness.  Ban’t theer no ways o’ meetin’ him, now you knaw?  If you’d speak to faither—­”

“What ’s the use bringing sorrow on his grey hairs?”

“Well, it’s got to come; you knaw that.  Grimbal isn’t the man to forgive.”

“Forgive!  That would be worst of all.  If he forgived me now I’d go mad.  Wait till I’ve had soldier law, then us’ll talk ’bout forgiving arter.”

Phoebe shivered and began to cry helplessly, drying her eyes upon the sheet.

“Theer—­theer,” he said; “doan’t be a cheel.  We ‘m made o’ stern stuff, you an’ me.  ‘T is awnly a matter of years, I s’pose, an’ the reason I went may lessen the sentence a bit.  Mother won’t never turn against me, an’ so long as your faither can forgive, the rest of the world’s welcome to look so black as it pleases.”

“Faither’ll forgive ’e.”

“He might—­just wance more.  He’ve got to onderstand my points better late days.”

“Come an’ sleep then, an’ fret no more till marnin’ light anyway.”

“’Tis the thing hidden, hanging over my head, biding behind every corner.  I caan’t stand it; I caan’t wait for it.  I’ll grow sheer devil if I’ve got to wait; an’, so like as not, I’ll meet un faace to faace some day an’ send un wheer neither his bark nor bite will harm me.  Ess fay—­solemn truth.  I won’t answer for it.  I can put so tight a hand ’pon myself as any man since Job, but to sit down under this—­”

“Theer’s nought else you can do,” said Phoebe.  She yawned as she spoke, but Will’s reply strangled the yawn and effectually woke her up.

“So Jan Grimbal said, an’ I blamed soon shawed un he was out.  Theer’s a thing I can do an’ shall do.  ’T will sweep the ground from under un; ’t will blaw off his vengeance harmless as a gun fired in the air; ’t will turn his malice so sour as beer after thunder.  I be gwaine to give myself up—­then us’ll see who’s the fule!”

Phoebe was out of bed with her arms round her husband in a moment.

“No, no—­never.  You couldn’t, Will; you daren’t—­’tis against nature.  You ban’t free to do no such wild thing.  You forget me, an’ the li’l maid, an’ t’ other comin’!”

“Doan’t ‘e choke me,” he said; “an’ doan’t ’e look so terrified.  Your small hands caan’t keep off what’s ahead o’ me; an’ I wouldn’t let ’em if they could.  ’T is in this world that a chap’s got to pay for his sins most times, an’ damn short credit, tu, so far as I can see.  So what they want to bleat ’bout hell-fire for I’ve never onderstood, seeing you get your change here.  Anyway, so sure as I do a trick that ban’t ’zactly wise, the whip ’s allus behind it—­the whip—­”

He repeated the word in a changed voice, for it reminded him of what Grimbal had threatened.  He did not know whether there might be truth in it.  His pride winced and gasped.  He thought of Phoebe seeing his bare back perhaps years afterwards.  A tempest of rage blackened his face and he spoke in a voice hoarse and harsh.