protest of rusty hinges, and Ruan saw the Parson standing on the
threshold. A woman's face, pale and strained, swam out of the darkness
behind, and to Ruan, materialist though he was, came the thought that
the pale blur looked like the face of someone drowning in a black flood.
He put the idea aside and nodded slightly at the woman. She gave a gasp
of relief, and, pushing by the priest, walked over to the bed.

"So you've not cheated me, James!" she said. "I made sure to find 'ee
dead when I brought Passon--I thought you'd ha' done it to spite me."

"Dear woman," answered the Squire gently, "it's for my own pleasure I'm
wedding you, and not to make an honest woman of you. I've a fancy to
have the old place carried on by a child who's got a right to my name,
that's all."

"An' our first-born, Arch'laus, can go begging all's days, s'pose? An'
t'other lads and Vassie can go starve wi' en?"

Ruan's face changed, grew darker, and he spoke harshly.

"They were the children of our passion--true love-children. They remind
me of the days when I was a fool, and I'll leave them only my folly. But
the child that's coming--he'll be blessed by the law and the
Church--quite a gentleman of quality, Annie; far above the likes of you.
He'll live to breed hatred and malice in the pack of ye, and every hand
of his own flesh and blood'll be against him.... Parson, do your duty,
and tie the holy knot--small harm in it now nothing can hold me long."

The Parson came forward without a word. He was a clever man, whose
knowledge of souls was deep, if not wide, and he refrained from asking