but, failing to recognise her, asked who she was.

"It's Mary," she answered, and advanced towards him.

"Mary!" he exclaimed, and then, realising who Mary was, he shrank from
her as though she had been an avenging spirit. The Mary of his dreams,
the girl standing in the market-place with a halter round her neck, came
back to his mind and deepened the look of terror in his eyes.

"What doesta want wi' me?" he exclaimed, in a harsh whisper.

"I've coom to tak care o' thee," Mary replied.

"Thou's coom to plague me, that's what thou's coom for. I know thee.
I've seen thee o' neights, aye, an' i' t' daytime too; an' if it's
revenge thou wants, I tell thee thou's gotten it already, capital an'
interest, interest an' capital."

Mary's swift intuition afforded her an insight into Learoyd's mind. She
realised that the fangs of remorse were buried in his heart and she
determined to remove them at all costs.

"Father," she said--and it was hard for her to utter the word which even
when she was a child had seemed unnatural to her--"let us forget all
that's gone afore. Sufferin' has coom to both on us, but it has bin warr
for thee nor ever it was for me. Let us start agean."

As she said this she knelt down by the side of his chair and gently
stroked his hands and smoothed back the iron-grey locks that had fallen
over his eyes. At first he shrank from her touch, but in a little time