t two weeks back to make inquiries about that
villain; and the groom left me her address, in case, my dear, when the
poor creature--his true wife--crawled home, and we knew of her at
Three-Tree Farm and knew her story. I wrote word at once, I did, to Mrs.
Lovell, and the sweet good lady sent down her groom to fetch me to you to
make things clear here. You shall understand them soon. It's Providence
at work. I do believe that now there's a chance o' punishing the wicked
ones."

The figure of Rhoda with two lights in her hand was seen in the porch,
and by the shadowy rays she beheld old Anthony leaning against the house,
and Major Waring with a gentleman beside him close upon the gate.

At the same time a sound of wheels was heard.

Robert rushed back into the great parlour-kitchen, and finding it empty,
stamped with vexation. His prey had escaped.

But there was no relapse to give spare thoughts to that pollution of the
house. It had passed. Major Waring was talking earnestly to Mr. Fleming,
who held his head low, stupefied, and aware only of the fact that it was
a gentleman imparting to him strange matters. By degrees all were beneath
the farmer's roof--all, save one, who stood with bowed head by the
threshold.

There is a sort of hero, and a sort of villain, to this story: they are
but instruments. Hero and villain are combined in the person of Edward,
who was now here to abase himself before the old man and the family he
had injured, and to kneel penitently at the feet of the woman who had
just reason to spurn him. He had sold her as a slave is sold; he had seen
her plunged into the blackest pit; yet was she miraculously kept pure for
him, and if she could give him her pardon, might still be his. The grief
for which he could ask no compassion had at least purified him to meet
her embrace. The great agony he had passed through of late had killed his
meaner pride. He stood there ready to come forward and ask forgiveness
from unfriendly faces, and beg that he might be in Dahlia's eyes
once--that he might see her once.

He had grown to love her with the fullest force of a selfish, though not
a common, nature. Or rather he had always loved her, and much of the
selfishness had fallen away from his love. It was not the highest form of
love, but the love was his highest development. He had heard that Dahlia,
lost to him, was free. Something like the mortal yearning to look upon
the dead risen to life, made it impossible