“Father, if you let me see it—­” Rhoda checked the intemperate outburst.  “Father, this is a bad—­a bad man.  He is a very wicked man.  We were all deceived by him.  Robert knows him.  He has known him for years, and knows that he is very wicked.  This man married our Dahlia to get—­” Rhoda gasped, and could not speak it.  “He flung her off with horrible words at the church door.  After this, how can he claim her?  I paid him all he had to expect with uncle’s money, for his promise by his sacred oath never, never to disturb or come near my sister.  After that he can’t, can’t claim her.  If he does—­”

“He’s her husband,” interrupted the farmer; “when he comes here, he’s welcome.  I say he’s welcome.  My hand’s out to him:—­If it’s alone that he’s saved the name of Fleming from disgrace!  I thank him, and my daughter belongs to him.  Where is he now?  You talk of a scuffle with Robert.  I do hope Robert will not forget his proper behaviour.  Go you up to your sister, and say from me—­All’s forgotten and forgiven; say, It’s all underfoot; but she must learn to be a good girl from this day.  And, if she’s at the gate to welcome her husband, so much the better ’ll her father be pleased;—­say that.  I want to see the man.  It’ll gratify me to feel her husband’s flesh and blood.  His being out of sight so long’s been a sore at my heart; and when I see him I’ll welcome him, and so must all in my house.”

This was how William Fleming received the confession of his daughter’s unhappy plight.

Rhoda might have pleaded Dahlia’s case better, but that she was too shocked and outraged by the selfishness she saw in her father, and the partial desire to scourge which she was too intuitively keen at the moment not to perceive in the paternal forgiveness, and in the stipulation of the forgiveness.

She went upstairs to Dahlia, simply stating that their father was aware of all the circumstances.

Dahlia looked at her, but dared ask nothing.

So the day passed.  Neither Robert nor Anthony appeared.  The night came:  all doors were locked.  The sisters that night slept together, feeling the very pulses of the hours; yet neither of them absolutely hopelessly, although in a great anguish.

Rhoda was dressed by daylight.  The old familiar country about the house lay still as if it knew no expectation.  She observed Master Gammon tramping forth afield, and presently heard her father’s voice below.  All the machinery of the daily life got into motion; but it was evident that Robert and Anthony continued to be absent.  A thought struck her that Robert had killed the man.  It came with a flash of joy that was speedily terror, and she fell to praying vehemently and vaguely.  Dahlia lay exhausted on the bed, but nigh the hour when letters were delivered, she sat up, saying, “There is one for me; get it.”

There was in truth a letter for her below, and it was in her father’s hand and open.