as, too, a proud man, and his pride bred in him a morbid
sensibility towards any slight, real or fanciful, that was practised on
him. He treated his stepdaughter not unkindly, but never accepted any
parental responsibility towards her.

Meanwhile Anne Learoyd, finding no congenial society in her own home,
spent much of her time in neighbours' houses. Her chief friend was the
landlady of the Woolpack Inn, a public-house situated midway between the
farm-house and Holmton. Here whole afternoons and evenings were spent,
and the work of the farm-house was left in the hands of Mary Whittaker,
towards whom her mother had never shown any real affection. Years passed
away and the relations between husband and wife grew steadily worse,
till at length the crisis came. A new barman was appointed at the
Woolpack, a man whom Anne Learoyd had known during her early life in
Leeds. Rumour was soon busy with the relations which existed between the
barman and the farmer's wife, and after a time suspicious stories
reached the ears of Samuel Learoyd. A violent scene between husband and
wife took place in the farm kitchen, but, in spite of this, Anne's
visits to the public-house continued as before. One afternoon, when her
husband was attending a cattle-mart in a neighbouring town, Anne
Learoyd, without saying a word to her daughter, left the house and was
still absent when her husband returned for supper. Mary Whittaker was at
once dispatched to the Woolpack Inn, and, after an hour, returned with
the news that her mother was not there and that the barman was also
missing. With an oath, Learoyd saddled his mare and rode in all haste to
Holmton. Finding no news of the missing couple in the town he made his
way to the nearest station, where he found that a man and woman
answering to his description had left by train for Liverpool four hours
before. Learoyd, his heart raging with fury and wounded pride, followed
in pursuit. He arrived at Liverpool in the early hours of the next
morning, and, making his way to the docks, discovered that the fugitives
had sailed at midnight for America. Further pursuit was impossible. He
returned home, and late that same evening was found lying dead drunk on
the road-side within a hundred yards of the local railway station. He
was brought home and put to bed, and next day was seized with a severe
fit of epilepsy. For weeks his life was in danger, and when at last he
recovered strength of body, his mind remained in