hers that the baby had been punished
for his assault on them. She could have seen that she was wringing the
culprit's heart. Perhaps she did, and had no room in her own to care.
She stood on the sunny garden path and lifted her hands to her head--a
lovely pose.

"Here, let me," said Claud Dalzell.

She let him--which was cruellest of all. Guthrie turned his murderous
eyes from the group and sauntered away, out of the garden, out of their
sight, unrecalled, apparently unnoticed. Mary carried the crying child
into the house.

Then for an hour the silly fellow walked alone in the most solitary
places that he could find, revelling in the thought that it was
Christmas Day, and he singled out by Fate to have no share in its happy
circumstances: no home, no friends, no love, like other men--nothing to
make life worth living, save only the baby son that he had ill-used.
Apart from the sting of Deb's comment on it, he repented him of that
blow. A great big man like him, to strike a tender mite like this--a
motherless babe, his precious Lily's bequest to him--aye, indeed! It
was the act of a brute, whatever the provocation. The mite was a waif
too, alone in the world when his father was at sea, pathetically
helpless, with no defence against blows and unkindness. The reflection
brought dimness to the man's hard blue eyes, and turned his steps
houseward.

He arrived to find a large four-horsed brake at the door. The body was
filling with other persons--the sailor knew not, cared not whom. He
looked up at the radiant figure in front. She looked down on him with
heart-melting kindness, as if nothing had happened.

"Why, Mr Carey, aren't you coming to church?" she called to him.
"Not--not today, I think," he answered, without premeditation.

"Christmas Day," she hinted invitingly. "You don't always get the
chance, you know."

"I know. But--thanks--I'd rather not," he bluntly persisted, hating
himself for the churlish response, and all the time wanting to
go--certain to have gone if he had given himself time to think.
Soldiers and sailors, with their habit of unquestioning obedience to
authority, are almost always "good" churchmen, and, as she had pointed
out, this offer of Christian privileges did not come to him every year.
He had not anticipated it on this occasion, knowing Redford to be
situated at least ten miles from a church.

"Oh, well," said Deborah, scenting spite, "I daresay it IS more
comfortable in the cool hous