im away from the
dangerous subject, as she heard his voice change, and saw his eyes begin
to brighten again. "Yes, yes--but how did you come to see the child?
Tell me that."

"Zack took me into the Painter-man's big room--"

"Zack! Why, good gracious Heavens! do you mean Master Zachary Thorpe?"

"I see a young woman standing among a lot of people as was all a staring
at her," continued Mat, without noticing the interruption. "I see her
just as close to, and as plain, as I see you. I see her look up, all of
a sudden, front face to front face with me. A creeping and a crawling
went through me; and I says to myself, 'Mary's child has lived to grow
up, and that's her.'"

"But, do pray tell me, how ever you come to know Master Zack?"

"I says to myself 'That's her,'" repeated Mat, his rough voice sinking
lower and lower, his attention wandering farther and farther away from
Mrs. Peckover's interruptions. "Twenty year ago had got to be like
yesterday, when I was down at the old place; and things I hadn't
called to mind for long times past, I called to mind when I come to the
churchyard-gate, and see father's house. But there was looks Mary had
with her eyes, turns Mary had with her head, bits of twitches Mary had
with her eyebrows when she looked up at you, that I'd clean forgot. They
all come back to me together, as soon as ever I see that young woman's
face."

"And do you really never mean to let your sister's child know who you
are? You may tell me that, surely--though you won't speak a word about
Master Zack."

"Let her know who I am? Mayhap I'll let her know that much, before long.
When I'm going back to the wild country, I may say to her: 'Rough as I
am to look at, I'm your mother's brother, and you're the only bit of my
own flesh and blood I've got left to cotton to in all the world. Give us
a shake of your hand, and a kiss for mother's sake; and I won't trouble
you no more.' I _may_ say that, afore I go back, and lose sight of her
for good and all."

"Oh, but you won't go back. Only you tell Mr. Blyth you don't want to
take her away, and then say to him, 'I'm Mr. Grice, and--'"

"Stop! Don't you get a-talking about Mr. Grice."

"Why not? It's your lawful name, isn't it?"

"Lawful enough, I dare say. But I don't like the sound of it, though it
is mine. Father as good as said he was ashamed to own it, when he wrote
me that letter: and I was afraid to own it, when I deserted from my
ship. Bad luck has follo