her father, but it was at the expense of her love.

When he had heard and comprehended all, he said, "Send the girl down to
me."

But Rhoda pleaded, "She is too worn, she is tottering. She cannot endure
a word on this; not even of kindness and help."

"Then, you," said the farmer, "you tell her she's got a duty's her first
duty now. Obedience to her husband! Do you hear? Then, let her hear
it. Obedience to her husband! And welcome's the man when he calls on
me. He's welcome. My doors are open to him. I thank him. I honour
him. I bless his name. It's to him I owe--You go up to her and say, her
father owes it to the young man who's married her that he can lift up his
head. Go aloft. Ay! for years I've been suspecting something of this.
I tell ye, girl, I don't understand about church doors and castin' of her
off--he's come for her, hasn't he? Then, he shall have her. I tell ye,
I don't understand about money: he's married her. Well, then, she's his
wife; and how can he bargain not to see her?"

"The base wretch!" cried Rhoda.

"Hasn't he married her?" the farmer retorted. "Hasn't he given the poor
creature a name? I'm not for abusing her, but him I do thank, and I say,
when he calls, here's my hand for him. Here, it's out and waiting for
him."

"Father, if you let me see it--" Rhoda checked the intemperate outburst.
"Father, this is a bad--a bad man. He is a very wicked man. We were all
deceived by him. Robert knows him. He has known him for years, and