“Yes.”

“And he told you that to do to me as you have done was to be pleasing in God’s sight?”

“No; he knows that it was so evil in God’s sight that I shall suffer for it always.”

“But he has done no wrong, so there is no punishment for him?”

“It is true that he has done no wrong, but his punishment will be worse, probably, than mine.”

“That,” said the earl, scoffing, “is not just.”

“It is just.  He has accepted responsibility for my sins by marrying me.”

“And what form is his punishment to take?”

“For marrying me he will be driven from his church and dishonored in all men’s eyes, unless—­unless God is more merciful to us than we can expect.”

Her sincerity was so obvious that the earl could no longer meet it with sarcasm.

“It is you I pity now,” he said, looking wonderingly at her.  “Do you not see that this man has deceived you?  Where was his boasted purity in meeting you by stealth, as he must have been doing, and plotting to take you from me?”

“If you knew him,” Babbie answered, “you would not need to be told that he is incapable of that.  He thought me an ordinary gypsy until an hour ago.”

“And you had so little regard for me that you waited until the eve of what was to be our marriage, and then, laughing at my shame, ran off to marry him.”

“I am not so bad as that,” Babbie answered, and told him what had brought her to Thrums.  “I had no thought but of returning to you, nor he of keeping me from you.  We had said good-by at the mudhouse door—­and then we heard your voice.”

“And my voice was so horrible to you that it drove you to this?”

“I—­I love him so much.”

What more could Babbie answer?  These words told him that, if love commands, home, the friendships of a lifetime, kindnesses incalculable, are at once as naught.  Nothing is so cruel as love if a rival challenges it to combat.

“Why could you not love me, Babbie?” said the earl sadly.  “I have done so much for you.”

It was little he had done for her that was not selfish.  Men are deceived curiously in such matters.  When, they add a new wing to their house, they do not call the action virtue; but if they give to a fellow-creature for their own gratification, they demand of God a good mark for it.  Babbie, however, was in no mood to make light of the earl’s gifts, and at his question she shook her head sorrowfully.

“Is it because I am too—­old?”

This was the only time he ever spoke of his age to her.

“Oh no, it is not that,” she replied hastily, “I love Mr. Dishart--because he loves me, I think.”

“Have I not loved you always?”

“Never,” Babbie answered simply.  “If you had, perhaps then I should have loved you.”

“Babbie,” he exclaimed, “if ever man loved woman, and showed it by the sacrifices he made for her, I—­”