se he knew that Philip had deserted her.

After a moment he said: "I'll find Mr. Dow if he is alive, and the
register too. Then the boy shall have his rights."

"No, Ranulph," she answered firmly, "it shall be in my own time. I must
keep the child with me. I know not when I shall speak; I am biding my
day. Once I thought I never should speak, but then I did not see all,
did not wholly see my duty towards Guilbert. It is so hard to find what
is wise and just."

"When the proofs are found your child shall have his rights," he said
with grim insistence.

"I would never let him go from me," she answered, and, leaning over, she
impulsively clasped the little Guilbert in her arms.

"There'll be no need for Guilbert to go from you," he rejoined, "for
when your rights come to you, Philip d'Avranche will not be living."

"Will not be living!" she said in amazement. She did not understand.

"I mean to kill him," he answered sternly.

She started, and the light of anger leaped into her eyes. "You mean to
kill Philip d'Avranche--you, Maitre Ranulph Delagarde!" she exclaimed.
"Whom has he wronged? Myself and my child only--his wife and his child.
Men have been killed for lesser wrongs, but the right to kill does not
belong to you. You speak of killing Philip d'Avranche, and yet you dare
to say you are my friend!"

In that moment Ranulph learned more than he had ever guessed of life's
subtle distinctions and the workings of a woman's mind; and he knew that
she was right. Her father, her grandfather, might have killed Philip
d'Avranche--any one but himself, he the man who had but now declared his
love for her. Clearly his selfishness had blinded him. Right was on his
side, but not the formal codes by which men live. He could not avenge
Guida's wrongs upon her husband, for all men knew that he himself had
loved her for years.

"Forgive me," he said in a low tone. Then a new thought came to him. "Do
you think your not speaking all these years was best for the child?" he
asked.

Her lips trembled. "Oh, that thought," she said, "that thought has made
me unhappy so often! It comes to me at night as I lie sleepless, and I
wonder if my child will grow up and turn against me one day. Yet I did
what I thought was right, Ranulph, I did the only thing I could do. I
would rather have died than--"

She stopped short. No, not even to this man who knew all could she speak
her whole mind; but sometimes the thought came to her with horri