en to me. I shall publish your marriage
everywhere. I shall make a home for you, and have the child brought to
it; then come or not, as you please.'

At mention of the child Nancy regarded him with cold curiosity.

'How are you to make a home for me? I thought you had difficulty enough
in supporting yourself.'

'That is no concern of yours. It shall be done, and in a day or two.
Then make your choice.'

'You think I can be forced to live with a man I don't love?'

'I shouldn't dream of living with a woman who didn't love me. But you
are married, and a mother, and the secrecy that is degrading you shall
come to an end. Acknowledge me or not, I shall acknowledge _you_, and
make it known that I am to blame for all that has happened.'

'And what good will you do?'

'I shall do good to myself, at all events. I'm a selfish fellow, and
shall be so to the end, no doubt.'

Nancy glanced at him to interpret the speech by his expression. He was
smiling.

'What good will it do you to have to support me? The selfishness I see
in it is your wishing to take me from a comfortable home and make me
poor.'

'That can't be helped. And, what's more, you won't think it a hardship.'

'How do you know that? I have borne dreadful degradations rather than
lose my money.'

'That was for the child's sake, not for your own.'

He said it softly and kindly, and for the first time Nancy met his eyes
without defiance.

'It was; I could always have earned my own living, somehow.'

Tarrant paused a moment, then spoke with look averted.

'Is he well, and properly cared for?'

'If he were not well and safe, I shouldn't be away from him.'

'When will you let me see him, Nancy?'

She did not smile, but there was a brightening of her countenance, which
she concealed. Tarrant stepped to her side.

'Dear--my own love--will you try to forgive me? It was all my cursed
laziness. It would never have happened if I hadn't fallen into poverty.
Poverty is the devil, and it overcame me.'

'How can you think that _I_ shall be strong enough to face it?' she
asked, moving half a step away. 'Leave me to myself; I am contented; I
have made up my mind about what is before me, and I won't go through all
that again.'

Tired of standing, she dropped upon the nearest chair, and lay back.

'You can't be contented, Nancy, in a position that dishonours you. From
what you tell me, it seems that your secret is no secret at all. Will
you compel me to go to