Molly rose with a set face.  She did not answer his question.

“You must give me ten minutes,” she said.  “Ten minutes; on no account must you bring her sooner.”

She limped off towards the house.

So it happened that as Mr. and Mrs. Wesley stood and faced each other across the writing-table they heard a gentle knock, and, turning with a start, saw the door open and Molly walk boldly into the room.

“We are busy,” said the Rector sharply, recovering himself.  “I did not send for you.”

“I know it,” Molly answered; “but I am come first to explain.”

“If you are here to speak for your sister, I wish to hear no explanations.”

“I know it,” Molly answered again; “but I need to give them; and, please you, father, you will listen to me.”

Mr. Wesley gasped.  Of all his daughters this deformed one had rendered him the most absolute obedience; of her alone he could say that, apart from her bodily weakness, she had never given him a moment’s distress.  In a family where high courage was the rule her timidity was a by-word; she would turn pale at the least word of anger.  But she was brave now, as a dove to defend her brood.

“You are using a secret”—­her voice trembled, but almost at once grew steady again—­“a secret between me and Hetty which I had no right to betray.  If I told it to mother, it was because she seemed to doubt of Hetty’s despair; because I believed, if only she knew, she would come to Hetty and help her—­the more eagerly the worse the need.  Mother will tell you that was my only reason.  I was very foolish.  Mother would not help:  or perhaps she could not.  She went straight to you with the tale—­this poor pitiful tale of an oath taken in passion by the unhappiest girl on earth.  Yes, and the dearest, and the noblest! . . .  But why do I tell you this?  You are her father and her mother, and it is nothing to you; you prefer to be her judges.  Only I say that you have no right to my secret.  Give it back to me!  You shall not use it to do this wickedness!”

“Molly!” The last word fairly took Mrs. Wesley’s breath away; she glanced at the Rector; but the explosion she expected hung fire, although he was breathing hard.

Molly, too, was panting, but she went on recklessly.  “Yes; a wickedness!  She swore it, but she did not mean it.  Even had she meant it, she was not responsible. . . .  No, mother, you need not look at me so.  I have been thinking, and father shall hear the truth for once.  Had he been kind—­had he even been just—­Hetty had never run away.  Oh, sir, you are a good man! but you are seldom kind, and you are rarely just.  You plan what seems best to you—­best for Sam and Jacky and Charles—­best for us too, maybe.  But of us, apart from your wishes, you never think at all.  Oh, yes again, you are good; but your temper makes life a torture—­”

“Silence!” Mr. Wesley thundered out suddenly.