any years--and the man turned out a ruffian, she would be anxious to
screen him, and yet would revolt from his crimes. This might be. It
bears strongly on the whole drift of her discourse yesterday, and would
quite explain her conduct. Do you suppose Barnaby is privy to these
circumstances?'

'Quite impossible to say, sir,' returned the locksmith, shaking his head
again: 'and next to impossible to find out from him. If what you suppose
is really the case, I tremble for the lad--a notable person, sir, to put
to bad uses--'

'It is not possible, Varden,' said Mr Haredale, in a still lower tone of
voice than he had spoken yet, 'that we have been blinded and deceived by
this woman from the beginning? It is not possible that this connection
was formed in her husband's lifetime, and led to his and my brother's--'

'Good God, sir,' cried Gabriel, interrupting him, 'don't entertain such
dark thoughts for a moment. Five-and-twenty years ago, where was there a
girl like her? A gay, handsome, laughing, bright-eyed damsel! Think what
she was, sir. It makes my heart ache now, even now, though I'm an old
man, with a woman for a daughter, to think what she was and what she is.
We all change, but that's with Time; Time does his work honestly, and
I don't mind him. A fig for Time, sir. Use him well, and he's a hearty
fellow, and scorns to have you at a disadvantage. But care and suffering
(and those have changed her) are devils, sir--secret, stealthy,
undermining devils--who tread down the brightest flowers in Eden, and do
more havoc in a month than Time does in a year. Picture to yourself for
one minute what Mary was before they went to work with her fresh
heart and face--do her that justice--and say whether such a thing is
possible.'

'You're a good fellow, Varden,' said Mr Haredale, 'and are quite right.
I have brooded on that subject so long, that every breath of suspicion
carries me back to it. You are quite right.'

'It isn't, sir,' cried the locksmith with brightened eyes, and sturdy,
honest voice; 'it isn't because I courted her before Rudge, and failed,
that I say she was too good for him. She would have been as much too
good for me. But she WAS too good for him; he wasn't free and frank
enough for her. I don't reproach his memory with it, poor fellow; I only
want to put her before you as she really was. For myself, I'll keep her
old picture in my mind; and thinking of that, and what has altered her,
I'll stand her friend,