“They were killing me, Will; and never a word from you.”

“I knaw, I knaw.  What’s wan girl against a parish full, an’ a blustering chap made o’ diamonds?”

“The things doan’t warm me; they make me shiver.  But now—­you can forgive me—­that’s all I care for.  What shall I do?  How can I escape it?  Oh, Will, say I can!”

“In coourse you can.  Awnly wan way, though; an’ that’s why I’m here.  Us must be married right on end.  Then he’s got no more power over ’e than a drowned worm, nor Miller, nor any.”

“To think you can forgive me enough to marry me after all my wickedness!  I never dreamed theer was such a big heart in the world as yourn.”

“Why, we promised, didn’t us?  We’m built for each other.  I knawed I’d only got to come.  An’ I have, at cost, tu, I promise ’e.  Now we’ll be upsides wi’ this tramp from furrin paarts, if awnly you do ezacally what I be gwaine to tell you.  I’d meant to write it, but I can speak it better as the chance has come.”

Phoebe’s heart glowed at this tremendous change in the position.  She forgot everything before sight and sound of Will.  The nature of her promises weakened to gossamer.  Her first love was the only love for her, and his voice fortified her spirit and braced her nerves.  A chance for happiness yet remained and she, who had endured enough, was strong in determination to win it yet at any cost if a woman could.

“If you awnly knawed the half I’ve suffered before they forced me, you’d forgive,” she said.  His frank pardon she could hardly realise.  It seemed altogether beyond the desert of her weakness.

“Let that bide.  It’s the future now.  Clem’s told me everything.  Awnly you and him an’ Chris knaw I’m here.  Chris will serve ’e.  Us must play a hidden game, an’ fight this Grimbal chap as he fought me—­behind back.  Listen; to-day fortnight you an’ me ’m gwaine to be married afore the registrar to Newton Abbot.  He ‘m my awn Uncle Ford, as luck has it, an’ quite o’ my way o’ thinkin’ when I told him how ‘t was, an’ that Jan Grimbal was gwaine to marry you against your will.  He advised me, and I’m biding in Newton for next two weeks, so as the thing comes out right by law.  But you’ve got to keep it still as death.”

“If I could awnly fly this instant moment with ’e!”

“You caan’t.  ‘T would spoil all.  You must stop home, an’ hear your banns put up with Grimbal, an’ all the rest of it.  Wish I could!  Meat an’ drink ‘t would be, by God!  But he’ll get his pay all right.  An’ afore the day comes, you nip off to Newton, an’ I’ll meet ‘e, an’ us’ll be married in a wink, an’ you’ll be back home again to Monks Barton ’fore you knaw it.”

“Is that the awnly way?  Oh, Will, how terrible!”

“God knaws I’ve done worse ’n that.  But no man’s gwaine to steal the maid of my choosin’ from me while I’ve got brains and body to prevent it.”

“Let me look at you, lovey—­just the same, just the same!  ’Tis glorious to hear your voice again.  But this thin coat, so butivul in shaape, tu!  You ’m a gentleman by the look of it; but ’t is summer wear, not winter.”