“Don’t tell me you’re sorry, for God’s sake, or I shall go and drown myself,” she answered.  Her face was anxious and she looked haggard in the cold light of a sunless, winter day.  But a genuine, generous emotion had touched him, and with it woke pangs of remorse and contrition.  He knew very well what she had been suffering mentally on his account, and he knew that the frightened voice in which she told him the news and the trembling mouth and the tear in her eyes ought not to have been there.  Every fine feeling in the man and every honest instinct was aroused.  For the moment he felt glad that no further delay was possible.  His self-respect had already suffered; but now life offered him swift means to regain it.  He did not, however, think of himself while his arms were round her; he thought of her and her only, while they remained together.

“’Sorry’?” he said.  “Can you think I’m sorry?  I’m only sorry that I didn’t do something sooner and marry you before this happened, Sabina.  Good Lord—­it throws a lot of light.  I swear it does.  I’m glad—­I’m honestly glad—­and you must be glad and proud and happy and all the rest of it.  We’ll be married in a month.  And you must tell your mother we’re engaged to-day; and I’ll tell my people.  Don’t you worry.  Damn me, I’ve been worrying you a lot lately; but it was only because I couldn’t see straight.  Now I do and I’ll soon atone.”

She wept with thankful heart and begged him to turn with her and tell Mrs. Dinnett himself.  But that he would not do.

“It will save time if I go on to Bridport and let Aunt Jenny hear about it.  Of course the youngster is our affair and nobody need know about that.  But we must be married in a jiffey and—­you must give notice at the mill to-day.  Go back now and tell Best.”

“How wonderful you are!” she said.  “And yet I feared you might be savage about it.”

“More shame to me that you should have feared it,” he answered; “for that means that I haven’t been sporting.  But you shall never be frightened of me again, Sabina.  To see you frightened hurts me like hell.  If ever you are again, it will be your fault, not mine.”

She left him very happy and a great cloud seemed to fall off her life as she returned to the village.  She blamed herself for ever doubting him.  Her love rose from its smothered fires.  She soared to great heights and dreamed of doing mighty things for Raymond.  Straight home to her mother she went and told Mrs. Dinnett of her engagement and swiftly approaching marriage.  The light had broken on her darkness at last and she welcomed the child as a blessed forerunner of good.  The coming life had already made her love it.