s
'as warked and niver lost a day as man or boy; has niver coome oopen 'em
for n'aporth. An' 'e'll keep out o' warkus till he doy. An' 'ee's put by
enow to by wi' his own feythers in Lanksheer, an' not liggen aloane in
parson's choorchyard."

It was part of her uneasiness that, scarcely understanding or, indeed,
feeling any interest in these maundering details, she still seemed
to have an odd comprehension of his character and some reminiscent
knowledge of him, as if she were going through the repetition of some
unpleasant dream. Even his wrinkled face was becoming familiar to her.
Some weird attraction was holding her; she wanted to get away from it as
much as she wanted to analyze it. She glanced ostentatiously at the sky,
prepared to open her parasol, and began to edge cautiously away.

"Then tha beant from these pearts?" he said suddenly.

"No, no," she said quickly and emphatically,--"no, I'm an American."

The old man started and moved towards her, eagerly, his keen eyes
breaking through the film that at times obscured them. "'Merrikan! tha
baist 'Merrikan? Then tha knaws ma son John, 'ee war nowt but a bairn
when brether Dick took un to 'Merriky! Naw! Now! that wor fifty years
sen!--niver wroate to his old feyther--niver coomed back, 'Ee wor
tall-loike, an' thea said 'e feavored mea." He stopped, threw up his
head, and with his skinny fingers drew back his long, straggling locks
from his sunken cheeks, and stared in her face. The quick transition
of fascination, repulsion, shock, and indefinable apprehension made her
laugh hysterically. To her terror he joined in it, and eagerly clasped
her wrists. "Eh, lass! tha knaws John--tha coomes from un to ole
grandfeyther. Who-rr-u! Eay! but tha tho't to fool mea, did tha, lass?
Whoy, I knoawed tha voice, for a' tha foine peacock feathers. So tha be
John's gell coom from Ameriky. Dear! a dear! Coom neaur, lass! let's see
what tha's loike. Eh, but thou'lt kiss tha grandfather, sewerly?"

A wild terror and undefined consternation had completely overpowered
her! But she made a desperate effort to free her wrists, and burst out
madly:--

"Let me go! How dare you! I don't know you or yours! I'm nothing to you
or your kin! My name is Desborough--do you understand--do you hear me,
Mr. Debs?--DESBOROUGH!"

At the word the old man's fingers stiffened like steel around her
wrists, as he turned upon her a hard, invincible face.

"So thou'lt call thissen Des-borough, wilt th