knows that he is very wicked. This man married our Dahlia to get--"
Rhoda gasped, and could not speak it. "He flung her off with horrible
words at the church door. After this, how can he claim her? I paid him
all he had to expect with uncle's money, for his promise by his sacred
oath never, never to disturb or come near my sister. After that he
can't, can't claim her. If he does--"

"He's her husband," interrupted the farmer; "when he comes here, he's
welcome. I say he's welcome. My hand's out to him:--If it's alone that
he's saved the name of Fleming from disgrace! I thank him, and my
daughter belongs to him. Where is he now? You talk of a scuffle with
Robert. I do hope Robert will not forget his proper behaviour. Go you
up to your sister, and say from me--All's forgotten and forgiven; say,
It's all underfoot; but she must learn to be a good girl from this day.
And, if she's at the gate to welcome her husband, so much the better 'll
her father be pleased;--say that. I want to see the man. It'll gratify
me to feel her husband's flesh and blood. His being out of sight so
long's been a sore at my heart; and when I see him I'll welcome him, and
so must all in my house."

This was how William Fleming received the confession of his daughter's
unhappy plight.

Rhoda might have pleaded Dahlia's case better, but that she was too
shocked and outraged by the selfishness she saw in her father, and the
partial desire to scourge which she was too intuitively keen at the
moment not to perceive in the paternal forgiveness, and in the
stipulation of the forgiveness.

She went upstairs to Dahlia, simply stating that their father was aware