And then John offered for Mrs. Bascombe, after making it clear to her that he was going to do so and finding the running good.  He put it in his masterly language and said that he’d be her willing slave, and hinted how, when he was gathered home, the farm would be her own for life and so on; and while knowing very well that John weren’t going to be her slave or nothing like that, Mrs. Bascombe reckoned the adventure about worth while, having took a fancy to him and longing most furious to escape the shop-of-all-sorts.  And so she said “Yes,” though hiding a doubt all the time, and Warner, who hated to have any trouble hanging over him, swore he was a blessed and a fortunate man, kissed her on the lips, and went home instanter to tell Jane the news.  He broke it when supper was done and they sat alone—­her darning and him mixing his ‘nightcap,’ which was a drop of Hollands, a lump of sugar and a squeeze of lemon in hot water.

“I’ve got glad news for you, Jane,” he said.  “Long I’ve felt ’twas a cheerless life for you without another woman to share your days on a footing of affection and friendship and—­more for your sake than my own—­I’ve ordained to wed again.  Not till I heard you praise her did I allow my thoughts to dwell on Mrs. Bascombe, but getting better acquaint, I found her all you said, and more.  A woman of very fine character—­so fearless and just such a touzer for work as yourself, and, in a word, seeing that you did ought to have a fellow-woman to share your labours and lighten your load, I approached her and she’s took me.  And I thank God for it, because you and her will be my right and left hand henceforward; and the three of us be like to pull amazing well together.  ’Tis a great advancement for Wych Elm in my judgment, and I will that the advantage shall be first of all for you.”

She heard him out with her little eyes on his face and her darning dropped and her jaw dropped also, as if she’d been struck dead.  But he expected something like that, because he very well knew Jane would hate the news and make a rare upstore about it.  He was all for a short battle and very wishful to go to bed the conqueror.  But he did not.  Jane hadn’t got his mellow flow of words, nor yet his charming touches when he wanted his way over a job; but she shared a good bit of his brain-power and she grasped at this fatal moment, with the future sagging under her feet, that she’d never be able to put up no fight nor hold her own that night.  In fact, she knew, as we all do, that you can’t do yourself justice after you’ve been knocked all ends up by a thunderbolt.  But she kept her nerve and her wits and looked at him and shut her mouth and put up her work in her workbasket.

“Good night, father,” she said.  “Us’ll talk about it to-morrow, if you please.”

Then she rose up and went straight to her chamber.

He was sorry for himself, though not at all surprised; and he finished his liquor, locked the house and retired.  An hour had passed before he went to bed, and he listened at Jane’s door and ordained that if by evil chance he heard her weeping he’d go in and say comforting words and play the loving father and advance his own purpose at the same time.  But Jane weren’t weeping; she was snoring, and John Warner nodded and went on.  He couldn’t help admiring her, however, even at that moment.