er come," he answered.

Robert's hold was tight under Dahlia's arm as they passed the doorway,
and then the farmer stood. Robert closed the door.

For some few painful moments the farmer could not speak, and his hand
was raised rejectingly. The return of human animation to his heart made
him look more sternly than he felt; but he had to rid himself of one
terrible question before he satisfied his gradual desire to take his
daughter to his breast. It came at last like a short roll of drums, the
words were heard,--

"Is she an honest woman?"

"She is," said Rhoda.

The farmer was looking on Robert.

Robert said it likewise in a murmur, but with steadfast look.

Bending his eyes now upon Dahlia, a mist of affection grew in them. He
threw up his head, and with a choking, infantine cry, uttered, "Come."

Robert placed her against her father's bosom.

He moved to the window beside Rhoda, and whispered, and she answered,
and they knew not what they said. The joint moans of father and
daughter--the unutterable communion of such a meeting--filled their
ears. Grief held aloof as much as joy. Neither joy nor grief were in
those two hearts of parent and child; but the senseless contentment of
hard, of infinite hard human craving.

The old man released her, and Rhoda undid her hands from him, and led
the pale Sacrifice to another room.

"Where's...?" Mr. Fleming asked.

Robert understood him.

"Her husband will not come."

It was interpreted by the farmer as her husband's pride. Or, may be, the
man who was her husband now had righted her at last, and then flung her
off in spite for what he had been made to do.

"I'm not being deceived, Robert?"

"No, sir; upon my soul!"

"I've got that here," the farmer struck his ribs.

Rhoda came back. "Sister is tired," she said. "Dahlia is going down home
with you, for...I hope, for a long stay."

"All the better, while home we've got. We mayn't lose time, my girl.
Gammon's on 's way to the station now. He'll wait. He'll wait till
midnight. You may always reckon on a slow man like Gammon for waitin'.
Robert comes too?"

"Father, we have business to do. Robert gives me his rooms here for a
little time; his landlady is a kind woman, and will take care of me. You
will trust me to Robert."

"I'll bring Rhoda down on Monday evening," Robert said to the farmer.
"You may trust me, Mr. Fleming."

"That I know. That I'm sure of. That's a certainty," said the farmer.
"I'd do