‘Upon a Tuesday morning, three weeks ago, I think, tho’ for t’ matter o’ time it might ha’ been three years, Kinraid come home; come back for t’ claim me as his wife, and I were wed to Philip!  I met him i’ t’ road at first; and I couldn’t tell him theere.  He followed me into t’ house—­Philip’s house, sir, behind t’ shop—­and somehow I told him all, how I were a wedded wife to another.  Then he up and said I’d a false heart—­me false, sir, as had eaten my daily bread in bitterness, and had wept t’ nights through, all for sorrow and mourning for his death!  Then he said as Philip knowed all t’ time he were alive and coming back for me; and I couldn’t believe it, and I called Philip, and he come, and a’ that Charley had said were true; and yet I were Philip’s wife!  So I took a mighty oath, and I said as I’d niver hold Philip to be my lawful husband again, nor iver forgive him for t’ evil he’d wrought us, but hold him as a stranger and one as had done me a heavy wrong.’

She stopped speaking; her story seemed to her to end there.  But her listener said, after a pause,

’It were a cruel wrong, I grant thee that; but thy oath were a sin, and thy words were evil, my poor lass.  What happened next?’

‘I don’t justly remember,’ she said, wearily.  ’Kinraid went away, and mother cried out; and I went to her.  She were asleep, I thought, so I lay down by her, to wish I were dead, and to think on what would come on my child if I died; and Philip came in softly, and I made as if I were asleep; and that’s t’ very last as I’ve iver seen or heared of him.’

Jeremiah Foster groaned as she ended her story.  Then he pulled himself up, and said, in a cheerful tone of voice,

’He’ll come back, Sylvia Hepburn.  He’ll think better of it:  never fear!’

‘I fear his coming back!’ said she.  ’That’s what I’m feared on; I would wish as I knew on his well-doing i’ some other place; but him and me can niver live together again.’

‘Nay,’ pleaded Jeremiah.  ’Thee art sorry what thee said; thee were sore put about, or thee wouldn’t have said it.’

He was trying to be a peace-maker, and to heal over conjugal differences; but he did not go deep enough.

‘I’m not sorry,’ said she, slowly.  ’I were too deeply wronged to be “put about”; that would go off wi’ a night’s sleep.  It’s only the thought of mother (she’s dead and happy, and knows nought of all this, I trust) that comes between me and hating Philip.  I’m not sorry for what I said.’

Jeremiah had never met with any one so frank and undisguised in expressions of wrong feeling, and he scarcely knew what to say.

He looked extremely grieved, and not a little shocked.  So pretty and delicate a young creature to use such strong relentless language!

She seemed to read his thoughts, for she made answer to them.

’I dare say you think I’m very wicked, sir, not to be sorry.  Perhaps I am.  I can’t think o’ that for remembering how I’ve suffered; and he knew how miserable I was, and might ha’ cleared my misery away wi’ a word; and he held his peace, and now it’s too late!  I’m sick o’ men and their cruel, deceitful ways.  I wish I were dead.’