ught. Allow me to say so, I respect you for it--for
speaking out, I mean. Now what I say is, wench kicks over the
traces--serve her right wharrever happens: but there's _family_ to
consider--"

Here Mr. Wright interrupted firmly. "Bless your heart, Mr. Ellison,
I quite see. I've made a mistake this morning."

"No offence, you understand."

"No offence at all. It turns out I've given the wrong man a
ducking."

"Eh?"

"It can easily be set right. Some day when you're sober. Good
morning!"

William Wright went his way whistling. Dick Ellison stared along the
causeway after him.

"Low brute!" he said musingly. "If she's to marry a fellow like
that, Sukey shan't visit her. I'm sorry for the girl too."

Beyond the hedge, in a corner of the kitchen-garden, Johnny Whitelamb
lay in his wet clothes with his face buried in a heap of mown grass.
He had failed, and shamefully, after preparing himself for the
interview by pacing (it seemed to him, for hours) the box-bordered
walks which Molly had planted with lilies and hollyhocks, pinks and
sweet-williams and mignonette. It was high June now, and the garden
breaking into glory. He had tasted all its mingled odours this
morning while he followed the paths in search of Hetty; and when at
length he had found her under the great filbert-tree, they seemed to
float about her and hedge her as with the aura of a goddess. He had
delivered his message, trembling: had watched her go with firm step
to the sacrifice. And then--poor boy--wild adoration had filled him
with all the courage of all the knights in Christendom. He alone
would champion her against the dragon. . . . And the dragon had flung
him into the ditch like a rat! He hid his face in the sweet-smelling
hillock.

For years after, the scent of a garden in June, or of new-mown hay,
caused him misery, recalling this the most abject hour of his life.

CHAPTER XII.

Six weeks later Mr. Wesley married William Wright and Hetty in the
bare little church of Wroote. Her sisters (among them Patty, newly
returned from Kelstein) sat at home: their father had forbidden them
to attend. A fortnight before they had stood as bridesmaids at
Nancy's wedding with John Lambert, and all but Molly had contrived to
be mirthful and forget for a day the shadow on the household and the
miserable woman upstairs. Hetty had no bridesmaids, no ringing of
bells. The church would have been empty, but for a steady downpour