ker had named her.

She drew at the rein, starting playfully as she heard his voice,
and shaking his hand as if to say, "Oh, master, give me the rein.
I will bear you swiftly to happiness."

Trove looked down at her proudly, patting the silken arch of her
neck. If, as Darrel had once told him, God took note of the look
of one's horses, she was fit for the last journey. Arriving at
Hillsborough, he tied her in the sheds and took his way to the Sign
of the Dial. Darrel was working at his little bench. He turned
wearily, his face paler than Trove had ever seen it, his eyes
deeper under their fringe of silvered hair.

"An' God be praised, the boy!" said he, rising quickly. "Canst
thou make a jest, boy, a merry jest?"

"Not until you have told me what's the matter."

"Illness an' the food o' bitter fancy," said the tinker, with a sad
face.

"Bitter fancy?"

"Yes; an' o' thee, boy. Had I gathered care in the broad fields
all me life an' heaped it on thy back, I could not have done worse
by thee."

Darrel put his hand upon the boy's shoulder, surveying him from
head to foot.

"But, marry," he added, "'tis a mighty thigh an' a broad back."

"Have you seen my father?"

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence, and Trove began to change colour.

"And what did he say?"

"That he will bear his burden alone."

Then, for a moment, silence and the ticking of the clocks.

"And I shall never know my father?" said Trove, presently, his lips
trembling. "God, sir! I insist upon it. I have a right to his
name and to his shame also." The young man sank upon a chair,
covering his face.

"Nay, boy, it is not wise," said Darrel, tenderly. "Take thought
of it--thou'rt young. The time is near when thy father can make
restitution, ay, an' acknowledge his sin before the world. All
very near to him, saving thyself, are dead. Now, whatever comes,
it can do thee no harm."

"But I care not for disgrace; and often you have told me that I
should live and speak the truth, even though it burn me to the
bone."

"So have I, boy, so have I; but suppose it burn others to the bone.
It will burn thy wife; an' thy children, an' thy children's
children, and them that have reared thee, an' it would burn thy
father most of all."

Trove was utterly silenced. His father was bent on keeping his own
disgrace.

"Mind thee, boy, the law o' truth is great, but the law o' love is
greater. A lie for the sake o' love--think o' that