been no flaw? She had been very brave
when they had attempted to confine her, to hold her by force at
Chesterton. Then she had been made strong, had always been comforted, by
opposition. The determination of her purpose to go back had supported
her. But now,--how should it be with her now? and with her boy? and with
him?

The old man was very good, good and eager in her cause, and would let
her live at Folking. But what would they call her? When they wrote to
her from Chesterton how would they address her letters? Never, never
would she soil her fingers by touching a document that called her by any
other name than her own. Yes, her own;--let all the jurymen in all the
counties, let all the judges on the bench, say what they would to the
contrary. Though it should be for all her life,--though there should
never come the day on which they,--they,--the world at large would do
him justice and her, though they should call her by what hard name they
would, still up there, in the courts of her God, she would be his wife.
She would be a pure woman there, and there would her child be without a
stain. And here, here in this world, though she could never more be a
wife in all things, she would be a wife in love, a wife in care, a wife
in obedience, a wife in all godly truth. And though it would never be
possible for her to show her face again among mankind, never for her,
surely the world would be kinder to her boy! They would not begrudge him
his name! And when it should be told how it had come to pass that there
was a blot upon his escutcheon, they would not remind him of his
mother's misery. But, above all, there should be no shade of doubt as to
her husband. 'I know,' she said, speaking aloud, but not knowing that
she spoke aloud, 'I know that he is my husband.' Then there was a knock
at the door. 'Well; yes;--has it come? Do you know?'

No; nothing was known there at that moment, but in another minute all
would be known. The wheels of the old Squire's carriage had been heard
upon the gravel. 'No, ma'am, no; you shall not leave the room,' said the
nurse. 'Stay here and let him come to you.'

'Is he alone?' she asked. But the woman did not know. The wheels of the
carriage had only been heard.

Alas, alas! he was alone. His heart too had been almost broken as he
bore the news home to the wife who was a wife no longer.

'Father!' she said, when she saw him.

'My daughter;--O my daughter!' And then, with their hands clasped