‘Eh! but I’ve been a bitter fool.’ She rose then and stood looking down at Dick. ‘I’m goin’ now,’ she said. ‘If I’m no man’s wife, at least I’ll be no man’s mistress. An’ for the child, you’d best care for him yourself. You’ll maybe make him as good a man as his father some day.’ Dick sprang up and caught her hand. ‘Anne, Anne,’ he cried, ‘you must see how it is—you must understand—I scarce knew all your feeling for Shepley at first—I thought you had forgot—I thought women forgot always—I had not realised—not until that night you spoke of him—and then, then I could not bear it, and I resolved to tell you truly. I——’ ‘Oh, you’ve acted mighty true for certain,’ said Anne quietly. ‘I have indeed told you all the truth——’ ‘Yes, now.’ ‘But, Anne, men are mortal—will fall before temptation. ’Tis hard to blame us too cruelly.’ ‘O yes; for certain men be mortal.’ ‘I shall in truth provide for you all your days, Anne; I thought of no other thing.’ ‘Will you, sir?’ said Anne, with a curious smile, and Meadowes, not catching its meaning, pursued eagerly— ‘All your days truly, Anne; you shall have all that woman can wish, if you will but pardon me.’ Anne stood looking at him in a curious dispassionate way for a moment. ‘I’d sooner starve,’ she said then, shortly. ‘But, Anne, you can never suppose that I would let you want, after all there has come and gone between us, after——’ Anne smiled again her curious smile, and shook her head. ‘A strange man you be for certain, Dick,’ she said; ‘kind an’ tender when you’ve a mind to be, and one as feels quick. She paused before adding slowly, ‘_And just as false as hell_.’ Meadowes winced under the words, but he went on, ‘False or no, Anne, I must provide for you—for you and the child.’ ‘For the child mayhap, never for me,’ said Anne. ‘You’d best see after him, for he’ll be set down to your account when all things is squared. See you train him up to be so good a man as you are, Dick.’ ‘Then do you not wish to care for your son yourself, Anne?’ asked Meadowes incredulously, for, up to this time, Anne had doted on the boy. ‘No more I do. He be your son, Dick, and ’tis for you to fend for him.’ ‘Then——’ Meadowes hesitated, waiting for Anne to make her intentions known. ‘I’ve worked before, and now I’ll work again; and if so be I get no work, then I’ll starve, as I’ve starved before,’ said Anne quietly. ‘Martha’s kind and up in years, best leave the boy with her.’ ‘Are you going to leave him?’ ‘Yes, an’ never see him nor you again,’ said Anne. She turned away into the house without another word, and Meadowes heard her go up-stairs and move about in her room gathering a few possessions together. She came out again before long, carrying a little bundle. ‘Good-bye, Dick,’ she said, holding out her hand to him; ‘good-bye to the part on you as was kind to me—the rest be rotten bad.’ ‘It cannot be you are really going, Anne.’