man," said Carne, retreating as the impulsive
Polly offered him the baby, "but once for all, no more of this. I have
quite forgiven any strong expressions you may have made use of when your
head was light; and if all goes well, I shall provide for you and the
child, according to your rank in life. But now you must run down the
hill, if you wish to save your life and his."

"I have run down the hill already. I care not a pin for my own life;
and hard as you are you would never have the heart to destroy your
own little Caryl. He may be called Caryl--you will not deny him that,
although he has no right to be called Carne. Oh, Caryl, Caryl, you can
be so good, when you think there is something to gain by it. Only be
good to us now, and God will bless you for it, darling. I have given up
all the world for you, and you cannot have the heart to cast me off."

"What a fool the woman is! Have you ever known me change my mind? If
you scorn your own life, through your own folly, you must care for the
brat's. If you stop here ten minutes, you will both be blown to pieces."

"Through my own folly! Oh, God in heaven, that you should speak so of my
love for you! Squire Carne, you are the worst man that ever lived; and
it serves me right for trusting you. But where am I to go? Who will take
me and support me, and my poor abandoned child?"

"Your parents, of course, are your natural supporters. You are hurting
your child by this low abuse of me. Now put aside excitement, and run
home, like a sensible woman, before your good father goes to bed."

She had watched his face all the time, as if she could scarcely believe
that he was in earnest, but he proved it by leaving her with a wave of
his hat, and hastening back to his lantern. Then taking up that, and the
coil of tow, but leaving his package against the wall, he disappeared
in the narrow passage leading to the powder vaults. Polly stood still
by the broken dial, with her eyes upon the moon, and her arms around
the baby, and a pang in her heart which prevented her from speaking, or
moving, or even knowing where she was.

Then Carne, stepping warily, unlocked the heavy oak door at the entrance
of the cellarage, held down his lantern, and fixed with a wedge the top
step of the ladder, which had been made to revolve with a pin and collar
at either end, as before described. After trying the step with his hand,
to be sure that it was now wedged safely, he flung his coil into the
vault