“Remain in your ignorance, Ben.  The best instrument is a blind instrument; you shall have your revenge soon or late.”

“Let it be soon, then.”

“In the meantime,” said Monckton, “have you got any money?”

“Got my wages.”

“That will do for you to-day.  Go to the public-house and get half-drunk.”

“Half-drunk?”

“Half-drunk!  Don’t I speak plain?”

“Miners,” said Burnley, candidly, “never get half-drunk in t’ county Durham; they are that the best part of their time.”

“Then you get half-drunk, neither more nor less, or I’ll discharge you as Hope has done, and that will be the worst discharge of the two for you.  When you are half-drunk come here directly, and hang about this place.  No; you had better be under that tree in the middle of the field there, and pretend to be sleeping off your liquor.  Come, mizzle!”

When he had packed off Burnley, he got back into his hiding-place, and only just in time, for Hope came back again upon the wings of love, and Grace, whose elastic nature had revived, saw him coming, and came out to meet him.  Hope scolded her urgently:  why had she got off the sofa when repose was so necessary for her?

“You are mistaken, dear father,” said she.  “I am wonderfully strong and healthy; I never fainted away in my life, and my mind will not let me rest at present—­I have been longing so for my father.”

“Ah, precious word!” murmured Hope.  “Keep saying that word to me, darling.  Oh, the years that I have pined for it!”

“Dear father, we will make up for all those years.  Oh, papa, let us not part again, never, never, not even for a day.”

“My child, we never will.  What am I saying?  I shall have to give you back to one who has a stronger claim than I—­to your husband.”

“My husband?” said Mary, turning pale.

“Yes,” said Hope; “for you know you have a husband.  Oh, I heard a few words there before I interfered; but it is not to me you’ll say ’I don’t know.’  That was good enough for Bartley and a lot of strangers.  Come, Grace dear, take my arm; have no concealments from me.  Trust to a father’s infinite love, even if you have been imprudent or betrayed; but that’s a thing I shall never believe except from your lips.  Take a turn with me, my child, since you can not lie down and rest; a little air, and gentle movement on your father’s arm, and close to your father’s heart, will be the next best thing for you.”  Then they walked to and fro like lovers.

“Why, Grace, my child,” said he, “of course I understand it all.  No doubt you promised to keep your marriage secret, or had some powerful reason for withholding it from strangers; and, indeed, why should you reveal such a secret to insolence or to mere curiosity.  But you will tell the truth to me, your father and your best friend; you will tell me you are a wife.”

“Father,” said Mary, trembling, and her eyes roved as if she was looking out for the means of flight.