Rhoda had slipped away from them again.

The farmer stooped to Robert’s ear.  “Had a bit of a disagreement with her husband, is it?”

Robert cleared his throat.  “Ay, that’s it,” he said.

“Serious, at all?”

“One can’t tell, you know.”

“And not her fault—­not my girl’s fault, Robert?”

“No; I can swear to that.”

“She’s come to the right home, then.  She’ll be near her mother and me.  Let her pray at night, and she’ll know she’s always near her blessed mother.  Perhaps the women ’ll want to take refreshment, if we may so far make free with your hospitality; but it must be quick, Robert—­or will they?  They can’t eat, and I can’t eat.”

Soon afterward Mr. Fleming took his daughter Dahlia from the house and out of London.  The deeply-afflicted creature was, as the doctors had said of her, too strong for the ordinary modes of killing.  She could walk and still support herself, though the ordeal she had gone through this day was such as few women could have traversed.  The terror to follow the deed she had done was yet unseen by her; and for the hour she tasted, if not peace, the pause to suffering which is given by an act accomplished.

Robert and Rhoda sat in different rooms till it was dusk.  When she appeared before him in the half light, the ravage of a past storm was visible on her face.  She sat down to make tea, and talked with singular self command.

“Mr. Fleming mentioned the gossips down at Wrexby,” said Robert:  “are they very bad down there?”

“Not worse than in other villages,” said Rhoda.  “They have not been unkind.  They have spoken about us, but not unkindly—­I mean, not spitefully.”

“And you forgive them?”

“I do:  they cannot hurt us now.”

Robert was but striving to master some comprehension of her character.

“What are we to resolve, Rhoda?”

“I must get the money promised to this man.”

“When he has flung off his wife at the church door?”

“He married my sister for the money.  He said it.  Oh! he said it.  He shall not say that we have deceived him.  I told him he should have it.  He married her for money!”

“You should not have told him so, Rhoda.”

“I did, and I will not let my word be broken.”

“Pardon me if I ask you where you will get the money?  It’s a large sum.”

“I will get it,” Rhoda said firmly.

“By the sale of the farm?”

“No, not to hurt father.”

“But this man’s a scoundrel.  I know him.  I’ve known him for years.  My fear is that he will be coming to claim his wife.  How was it I never insisted on seeing the man before—!  I did think of asking, but fancied—­a lot of things; that you didn’t wish it and he was shy.  Ah, Lord! what miseries happen from our not looking straight at facts!  We can’t deny she’s his wife now.”

“Not if we give him the money.”