' ruined maids in every parish of the Moor! God damn theer lying,
poisonous tongues, the lot of 'em! I'm sick of this rotten, lie-breeding
hole, an' of purty near every sawl in it but mother. She never would
think against me. An' me, so true to Phoebe as the honey-bee to his awn
butt! I'll go--I'll get out of it--so help me, I will--to a clean land,
'mongst clean-thinking folk, wheer men deal fair and judge a chap by his
works. For a thought I'd wring the neck of the blasted child, by God I
would!"

"He've done no wrong."

"Nor me neither. I had no more hand in his getting than he had himself.
Poor li'l brat; I'm sorry I spoke harsh of him. He was give me--he was
give me--an' I wish to God he _was_ mine. Anyways he shaa'n't come to no
harm. I'll fight the lot of 'e for un, till he 's auld enough to fight
for hisself."

Then Will burst out of Monks Barton and vanished. He passed far from the
confines of the farm, roamed on to the high Moor, and nothing further
was seen of him until the following day.

Those most concerned assembled after his departure and heard the result
of the interview.

"Solemn as a minister he swore," explained Mr. Lyddon; "an' then, a'most
before his hands was off the Book, he burst out like a screeching,
ravin' hurricane. I half felt the oath was vain then, an' 't was his
real nature bubblin' up like."

They discussed the matter, all save Chris, who sat apart, silent and
abstracted. Presently she rose and left them, and faced her own trouble
single-handed, as she had similarly confronted greater sorrows in the
past.

She was fully determined to conceal her cherished secret still; yet not
for the superficial reason that had occurred to any mind. Vast mental
alterations had transformed Chris Blanchard since the death of Clement.
Her family she scarcely considered now; no power of logic would have
convinced her that she had wronged them or darkened their fame. In the
past, indeed, not the least motive of her flight had centred in the fear
of Will; but now she feared nobody, and her own misfortune held no
shadow of sin or shame for her, looking back upon it. Those who would
have denied themselves her society or friendship upon this knowledge it
would have given her no pang to lose. She could feel fiercely still, as
she looked back to the birth of her son and traced the long course of
her sufferings; and she yet experienced occasional thrills of
satisfaction in her weaker moments, when she low