The bond-servant had gained control of himself in the pause, for he quietly rejoined:  “’T is true enough, though nothing to make boast of, save to those who set great store by grandfathers.”  Then, in a sadder tone, he added:  “’T was a foolish brag I never thought to make, for it carries more shame than honour, and ’t is therefore best forgotten.  Moreover, I ask your pardon for saying what else I did; ’t was my tongue and not my heart which spoke.”

The insult being atoned, Janice came back.  “You said you would tell me your history.”

“But then—­that was when I hoped—­a fool I was.”  The redemptioner paused, and then took a quick step toward Janice with an eager look on his face and his hand outstretched.  “There is but one woman in the world can gain the right to hear my sorry tale.  May I tell it to you?”

Young and inexperienced as the girl was, the implication of the question was too obvious for her to miss, and she replied, “No.”

The man dropped his arm and stood quietly for a moment, then gave a short, abrupt laugh.  “Either ’t is my lot to worship clay idols,” he said, “or no woman is worth loving.”

“Small blame to them for not loving you,” rejoined Janice.

“Electing to marry a put like Hennion!  There’s a husband of whom to be proud.”

“At least he is no indentured servant,” retorted the girl, in her irritation, walking away from the stable.  Once through the garden and in sight of the house, she halted, her attention attracted by some to-do about the porch.  Coming swiftly forward, it was to discover the squire there, candle in hand, to light the dismounting of a horseman, and that no less than Mr. Evatt.

“A welcome to ye,” the host was saying.  “Peg, tell Charles to come and take this horse.  Get ye into the house, man; I’ll hold him.  Ah!  Jan.  Take Mr. Evatt in, lass, and tell your mother we’ve a visitor.”

Janice, feeling strangely shy, led the way to the parlour, and when her mother, after the briefest of greetings, promptly bustled off to order a glass of wine and to inspect the best lodging-room—­as guest chambers were then termed—­her embarrassment was sufficient to bring the blood glowing into her cheeks, while, not daring so much as to meet Evatt’s eye, she hung her head and had much ado to keep from trembling.

Evatt stood with a broad smile on his face and unconcealed pleasure in his eyes, for in truth the girl made a picture to charm any man; and not till Janice lifted her eyes, and shot a furtive look at him, did he move toward her.  He took her hand and whispered:  “For nine months I’ve thought me of those lips and wondered when I should have taste of them.  Quickly, or thy father will—­”

“You must n’t!” gasped Janice, hanging her head more than ever.  “I’m to marry Philemon.”

“Tush!” exclaimed the man.  “I heard that tarradiddle in York City.  Why, thou ’rt promised to me, dost not remember, and I’ll not release thee, that I bind to.  Wouldst rather have that clout than me, Janice?”