“Dear Ducie, there is no question at all of that.  The trouble arose about Julius Sandal.  Father was determined that I or Sophia should marry him, and he was afraid of Steve standing in the way of Julius.  As for myself, I felt as if Julius had been invited to Seat-Sandal that he might make his choice of us; and I took good care that he should understand from the first hour that I was not on his approbation.  I resented the position on my own account, and I did not intend Stephen to feel that he was only getting a girl who had been appraised by Julius Sandal, and declined.”

“You are a good girl, Charlotte; and as for Steve standing in the way of Julius Sandal, he will, perhaps, do that yet, and to some more purpose than sweet-hearting.  I hear tell that he is very rich; but Steve is not poor,—­no, not by a good deal.  His grandfather and I have been saving for him more than twenty years, and Steve is one to turn his penny well and often.  If you marry Steve, you will not have to study about money matters.”

“Poor or rich, I shall marry Steve if he is true to me.”

“There is another thing, Charlotte, a thing I talk about to no one; but we will speak of it once and forever.  Have you heard a word about Steve’s father?  My trouble is long dead and buried, but there are some that will open the grave itself for a mouthful of scandal.  What have you heard?  Don’t be afraid to speak out.”

“I heard that you ran away with Steve’s father.”

“Yes, I did.”

“That your father and mother opposed your marriage very much.”

“Yes, that also is true.”

“That he was a handsome lad, called Matt Pattison, your father’s head shepherd.”

“Was that all?”

“That it killed your mother.”

“No, that is untrue.  Mother died from an inflammation brought on by taking cold.  I was no-ways to blame for her death.  I was to blame for running away from my home and duty, and I took in full all the sorrowful wage I earned.  Steve’s father did not live to see his son; and when I heard of mother’s death, I determined to go back to father, and stay with him always if he would let me.  I got to Sandal village in the evening, and stayed with Nancy Bell all night.  In the morning I went up the fell; it was a wet, cold morning, with gusts of wind driving the showers like a solid sheet eastward.  We had a hard fight up the breast of the mountain; and the house looked bleak and desolate, for the men were all in the barn threshing, and the women in the kitchen at the butter-troughs.  I stood in the porch to catch my breath, and take my plaid from around the child; and I heard father in a loud, solemn voice saying the Collect,—­father always spoke in that way when he was saying the Confession or the Collect,—­and I knew very well that he would be standing at that east window, with his prayer-book open on the sill.  So I waited until I heard the ‘Amen,’ and then I lifted the latch and went in.  He turned around and faced me; and his eyes fell at once upon little Steve, who was a bonny lad then, more than three years old.  ’I have come back to you, father,’ I said, ’I and my little Steve.’—­’Where is thy husband?’ he asked.  I said, ’He is in the grave.  I did wrong, and I am sorry, father.”