waiting to receive him. With a cowed look on his face he would turn away
from the house and pass the night in the hayloft.

The effect of all this upon his constitution was what might have been
expected. One evening, after a night and day of acutest torment, he fell
in an epileptic fit upon the kitchen floor, and was found there next
morning by a child from the village who had come to the farm for milk. A
doctor was summoned, who brought with him a nurse, and for some days
Learoyd's life hung in the balance. Recovery came at last but the doctor
insisted that he must no longer live alone, but must secure the services
of an experienced house-keeper. In vain did Learoyd protest against this
plan. The medical man remained firm. The nurse would have to leave in a
few days and someone else must take her place. The farmer would not stir
a finger to find such a person, so that the responsibility rested with
the doctor. But all his inquiries availed little. There was no lack of
women suitable for the post, but not one of them would undertake it. The
memory of the scene in the market-place held them back.

Then it was that the call came to Mary Whittaker. She must go back to
the man that had wronged her. At first the thought struck terror to her
heart; all the horror of her ignominy in the market-place came back to
her mind and filled her with a loathing sickness. For two days she
fought against the promptings of her better nature, but it was a losing
battle. At last she broached the subject to her husband. "I mun go back
to Learoyd," she said, speaking in those quiet, measured tones which Tom
Parfitt had learnt to associate with an inflexible will. Her husband
gave her a look in which admiration for her courage was at odds with
bitter opposition to the proposal.

"Thou sal do nowt o' t' sort," he said, after a moment's pause. "There's