e my heart over it. As I've tried to explain, I was disgusted
rather: I loathed the man, and--and--well, this is not the history of
Sally Breward, so once more we'll get back to Miles Chandon. . . . He
rode off; but he didn't ride back to Sidmouth. In his rage he did a
thing that, I now see, was far baser than his original folly. I saw it
as soon as my mind cleared; but--since this is a confession of a sort--
I didn't see it at the time, for I hated the woman. He wrote her a
letter; stuck a cheque inside, I dare say--he was brute enough just
then; and told her she might claim her price if she chose, but that he
would never see her again. . . . She went back to her coast-guard
people."

"It would seem," said Mr. Chichester gravely, as she paused for a while,
"that he did not even supply her with alimony--that is, if the child's
story be true."

"Probably she refused to accept any. I think we must suppose that, in
justice to her--and to him. Let me finish my confession. . . .
I thought I could never endure to look on the woman; I have never, as a
fact, set eyes on her. I don't know that she ever knew of my existence.
If we meet, t'other side of the grave, there'll be a deal to be
discussed between us before we straighten things out; but I'll have to
start by going up and introducing myself and telling her that, in the
end, she beat me. . . . Yes, parson, you'll hardly believe it, but one
day, finding myself in Plymouth, I took a boat from Admiral's Hard, and
crossed over to Maker Parish to make inquiries. This was two years
later, and she had gone--moved with her father (God help her, like me
she hadn't a mother) to some station on the east coast--the folk in
Cawsand and Kingsand couldn't tell me where. But they told me a child
had been born; which was new to me. They weren't sure that it was
alive, and were wholly vague about the father--called him Chandon, to be
sure, but supposed the name to be spelt with an 'S' as pronounced; told
me he was an officer in the Navy, reputed to be an earl's son. Gossip
had arrived no nearer. She was respectable, all agreed; no doubt about
her marriage lines; and the register confirmed it, with the right
spelling--the marriage and, ten months later, the boy's christening.
Arthur Miles was the name. That is all, or almost all. It seems that
towards the end of his time there her father became maudlin in his wits;
and the woman--her maiden name had been Reynolds, Helen Reynolds