“Are you sure it’s all for his sake?  Because I’m not.  They say you think of nothing on God’s earth but machinery nowadays, and look to machines to do the work of hands, and speak of ‘hands’ when you ought to speak of ‘souls.’  They say if you could, you’d turn out all the people and let everything be done by steam and steel.  There’s not much humanity in you, I reckon.  And why should you care for one little, unwanted boy?  Perhaps, if you looked deeper into yourself, you’d find it was your own peace, rather than his, that’s making you wish us away from Bridetown.  At any rate, that’s how one or two have seen and said it, when they heard how everybody was at me to go.  I’ve had to live down the past for long, slow, heart-breaking years and seen the fingers pointed at me; and now, with the child growing up, it’s your turn I daresay, and you—­so strong and masterful—­have had enough of pointing fingers and mean to pack us out of our home—­for your comfort.”

He stared at her in the gathering dusk and stood and uttered a great sigh from deep in his lungs.

“I’m sorry for you, Sabina—­sorrier than I am for myself.  This is cruel.  I didn’t know, or dream, that time had stood still for you like this.”

“Time ended for me—­then.”

“For me it had to go on.  I must think about this.  I didn’t guess it was like this with you.  Don’t think I want you away; don’t think you’re the only thorn in my pillow and that I’m not used to pain and anxiety, or impatient of all the implicit meaning of your lonely life.  Stop, if you want to stop.  I’ll see you again, Sabina, please.  Now I’ll be gone.”

When he had mounted his horse and ridden away without more words from her, Abel, who had been lurking along on the other side of the hedge, crept through it and rejoined his mother.

They walked on in silence for some time.  Then the child spoke.

“Fancy your talking to Mister Ironsyde, mother!”

“He talked to me.”

“I lay you dressed him down then?”

“I told him the truth, Abel.  He wants everything for nothing, Mister Ironsyde does.  He wants you—­for nothing.”

“He’s a beast, and I hate him, and he’ll know I hate him some day.”

“Don’t hate him.  He’s not worth hating.”

“I will hate him, I tell you.  But for him I’d be the great man in Bridetown when he dies.  Mister Baggs told me that.”

“You mustn’t give heed to what people say.  You’ve got mother to look after you.”

The boy was tired and spoke no more.  He padded silently along beside her and presently she heard him laugh to himself.  His thoughts had wandered back to the joy of the old store.

And she was thinking of what had happened.  She, too, even as Raymond, had imagined what speech would fall out between them after the long years and wondered concerning the form it would take.  She had imagined no such conversation as this.  Half of her regretted it; but the other half was glad.  He had gone on, but it was well that he should know she had stood still.  Could there be any more terrible news for him than to hear that she had stood still—­to feel that he had turned a living woman into a pillar of stone?