waters of
bitterness that swept over her a better Tess lived. Her faith in the boy
died instantly, and a higher, nobler and greater faith in the crucified
Saviour lived instead.

She would never tell Frederick that his sister was mother to the little
being he had scorned, nor would she as much as utter the name of Dan
Jordan. Covering the child tenderly, she faced Frederick Graves without
a touch of the awkward girlishness that had hitherto marked her
movements. A glorified expression lightened the white face and shone
from her eyes. He had taught her a lesson of independence she could not
have learned through any other person. Without one glance at the
shivering young mother, she walked to the door, and opened it, as she
had done that night when he had come first to the hut.

"Ye can go," she said, "both of ye. Ye burned my Book, ye did, but ye
can't take it out of my heart. The God up their ain't all yers. He air
mine--and Daddy's--and--the brat's."

CHAPTER XXXIII

The rain rushed in through the open door. The wind shook the dust in
clouds from the overhanging nets, waving the long cobwebs that hung in
fine threads from the ceiling into fantastic figures.

Frederick, still supporting his sister, stepped into the glare of the
lightning. Tess closed the door behind them, and stood with her back
against it. The high chest lifted and lifted, the white, tightened
throat choking down the sobs that tried to force themselves to her lips.
"She were a damn sneak," were the first words she said, shudderingly
covering her face with her hands.

"Aw, aw, I ain't a-goin' to have it here.... I can't have it here."

She was thinking of the child, now twisting and turning for more sugar.
A whine from its lips drew Tess slowly toward it. She stood looking down
upon it for many minutes. The baby had taken away her all, for Tess
realized now the extent of her love for Frederick. Nothing would make
the days shorter; there was no looking forward to a kindly nod or a
gracious word from him.

"I hates ye," she said out loud, slowly, leaning over the infant with a
frown on her face, "but I hates yer ma worse than I hates you. Yer ma
air a piker, she air."

The babe whimpered and shivered. Tessibel wrapped its bare shoulders in
a piece of the blanket.

"I could throw ye out in the rain, I hates ye so," she burst forth in
sudden anger. "Ye ain't no right in this shanty."

Her eyes glittered with rage and humiliation; her