replied, in a steady
voice, "but I can forgi'e the man. 'Twere done i' madness--there beant
the will workin' i' such. 'Twere a comfort that he'd a prayin' over un."

Gaston took the gnarled fingers in his. It had never struck him
how dreadful a thing it was--so used had he been to death in many
forms--till he had told the story to this mother.

"Mrs. Cawley," he said, "I can't make up to you what Jock would have
been; but I can do for you in one way as much as Jock. This house is
yours from to-day."

He drew a deed from the coverlet, and handed it to her. He had got it
from Sir William that morning. The poor and the crude in mind can only
understand an objective emotion, and the counters for these are this
world's goods. Here was a balm in Gilead. The love of her child was
real, but the consolation was so practical to Mrs. Cawley that the lips
which might have cursed, said:

"Ah, sir, the wind do be fittin' the shore lamb! I' the last Judgen,
I'll no speak agen 'ee. I be sore fretted harm come to 'ee."

At this Mrs. Gasgoyne rose, and in her bustling way dismissed the
grateful peasant, who fondled the deed and called eagerly down the
stairs to her husband as she went.

Mrs. Gasgoyne then came back, sat down, and said: "Now you needn't fret
about that any longer--barbarian!" she added, shaking a finger. "Didn't
I say that you would get into trouble? that you would set the country
talking? Here you were, in the dead of night, telling ghost stories, and
raking up your sins, with no cause whatever, instead of in your bed. You
were to have lunched with us the next day--I had asked Lady Harriet to
meet you, too!--and you didn't; and you have wretched patches where
your hair ought to be. How can you promise that you'll not make a madder
sensation some day?"

Gaston smiled up at her. Her fresh honesty, under the guise of banter,
was always grateful to him. He shook his head, smiled, and said nothing.

She went on.

"I want a promise that you will do what your godfather and godmother
will swear for you."

She acted on him like wine.

"Of course, anything. Who are my godfather and godmother?"

She looked him steadily, warmly in the eyes: "Warren and myself."

Now he understood: his promise to his grandmother and grandfather. So,
they had spoken! He was sure that Mrs. Gasgoyne had objected. He
knew that behind her playful treatment of the subject there was real
scepticism of himself. It put him on his mettle, and