shame me."

"You're a fule to say it! 'Tis your silly pride's gwaine to ruin all
your life, an' mine, tu. Who's to help you if you've allus got the black
monkey on your shoulder like this here?"

"You'm a overbearin', headstrong madman," summed up the miller, still
white with wrath; "an' I've done with 'e now for all time. You've had
your chance an' thrawed it away."

"He put this on me because I was poor an' without work."

"He didn't," cried the girl, whose emotions for a moment took her clean
from Will to her father. "He never dreamed o' doin' any such thing. He
couldn't insult a beggar-man; an' you knaw it. 'Tis all your ugly,
wicked temper!"

"Then I'll take myself off, an' my temper, tu," said Will, and prepared
to do so; while Mr. Lyddon listened to husband and wife, and his last
hope for the future dwindled and died, as he heard them quarrel with
high voices. His daughter clung to him and supported his action, though
what it had been she did not know.

"Caan't 'e see you're breakin' faither's heart all awver again just as
'twas mendin'?" she said. "Caan't 'e sing smaller, if 'tis awnly for
thought of me? Doan't, for God's love, fling away like this."

"I met un man to man, an' did his will with a gude thankful heart, an'
comed in the dawn to faace a job as--"

"'Tweren't the job, an' you knaw it," broke in Mr. Lyddon. "I wanted to
prove 'e an' all your fine promises; an' now I knaw their worth, an'
your worth. An' I curse the day ever my darter was born in the world,
when I think she'm your wife, an' no law can break it."

He turned and went into the house, and Phoebe stood alone with her
husband.

"Theer!" cried Will. "You've heard un. That was in his heart when he
spoke me so fair. An' if you think like he do, say it. Lard knaws I
doan't want 'e no more, if you doan't want me!"

"Will! How can you! An' us not met since our marriage-day. But you'm
cruel, cruel to poor faither."

"Say so, an' think so; an' b'lieve all they tell 'e 'gainst your lawful
husband; an' gude-bye. If you'm so poor-spirited as to see your man do
thicky work, you choosed wrong. Not that 'tis any gert odds. Stop along
wi' your faither as you loves so much better 'n me. An' doan't you fear
I'll ever cross his threshold again to anger un, for I'd rather blaw my
brains out than do it."

He shook and stuttered with passion; his eyes glowed, his lips changed
from their natural colour to a leaden blue. He groped for the gate whe