or to her
heart; all the horror of her ignominy in the market-place came back to
her mind and filled her with a loathing sickness. For two days she
fought against the promptings of her better nature, but it was a losing
battle. At last she broached the subject to her husband. "I mun go back
to Learoyd," she said, speaking in those quiet, measured tones which Tom
Parfitt had learnt to associate with an inflexible will. Her husband
gave her a look in which admiration for her courage was at odds with
bitter opposition to the proposal.

"Thou sal do nowt o' t' sort," he said, after a moment's pause. "There's
no call for thee to go nigh him after all he's done to thee."

"Nay, but he wants me; t' doctor says he mun have somebody to live wi'
him."

"If he wanted thee he'd coom an' seek thee, stubbornly answered Parfitt.

"He'll noan do that. I know Learoyd. He's ower proud to axe a favour
thro' anybody, let alone thro' me."

"Then he can dee in his pride. He's gotten shut o' thee for good an'
all, an' trodden thee i' t' muck, t' owd Jezebel."

"Nay, don't call him, Tom. Didn't chapel steward say that he was a
changed man sin' he took to goin' to t' chapil?"

This was almost the only serious dispute that had disturbed the even
tenor of their married life, and it ended in compromise. Mary was to go
to the farm, and if Learoyd needed her she was to stay for a month; at
the end of that time she would return home. Her husband's offer to
accompany her was declined. Instead, she asked him to pay a visit to the
doctor and inform him of her plan. The doctor heartily approved of all
that Mary Whittaker had taken upon herself to do; he said he would visit
his patient in the morning, and if all were going on well would take
away the nurse with him in his brougham. Then, as soon as possible after
their departure, Mary was to come to the farm and see Learoyd when he
was alone.

It was a bright April morning when Mary Whittaker set out on foot for
Fieldhead Farm. There had been rain the night before and the whole sky
was full of fleecy cumulus clouds, some of which enclosed large patches
of blue sky that looked like tranquil polar seas surrounded by hummocks
of frozen snow. Now and again a small cloud, at a lower elevation than
the rest, would sail gaily across these blue pools, and then be lost to
view against the white clouds on the other side. Larks and chaffinches
were everywhere in full song, and the sunshine had brought the