"When fowks is wed, they're wed. Me an' thee's teed fast as parson could tee us, an' I've a right to thee--ay, that I hev--a right o' law, an' a right o' parson." A swift smile came to Kate's lips, as she straightened herself and sought his eye in the semi-darkness. "Then, Joe Strangeways, you can go for the parson and bring him to help you; for you'll never touch me again, if I have to fight the lot of you." "I'm a honest man," Joe declared, after a disconcerted pause. "It's a queer country that would call you honest, Joe." The wife was feeling almost flippant for the moment, as the stronger sort of women do in moments of strain. A long silence followed, broken only by the shuffling of Joe's feet, and the ticking of the clock in the kitchen down below, and the rattle of mice behind the wainscoting. "I'm a honest man," reiterated Joe at last; "an' dang me if I'll see my wife go wrang wi' th' first fine gent what taks a fancy to her." "Go wrong!" she cried, with a sudden blaze of fury. "You dare to come to me and----" Joe felt vaguely that he was getting the advantage now that he had made her angry. "Ay, go wrang; that's what it's leading to," he responded doggedly. All the fight went out of Kate. He had brought home to her at last what she had hidden from herself all these months: she was face to face with the truth, and she saw in a flash the dreary stretch of years that spread before her--after she had proved true to her conscience--after she had said good-bye to Griff, and they had each gone their ways. Without a word she turned; before Joe had divined her purpose, she had locked the door in his face and left him on the cold landing to marvel at the queer ways of women. She threw herself on the bed and cried her heart out, while her husband growled his way to his own room. She wanted never, never to see Griff again. But Griff himself chanced to ride over the very next morning, and he altered her outlook on things. The clear, friendly look in his eyes--the easy talk on this or that topic of interest which they shared in common--his kindly insistence that she was far from well, and that he meant to tell his mother when he got home how little care she took of herself--all helped her to view the last night's misery in a quieter light. With a quick feminine subterfuge she told herself that his regard for her did not go very deep; if her own went deeper, need she make herself foolish in his eyes by bidding him never come near her again? After he had gone--with a faint wonder in his mind at her changed manner--Kate went over all that she had suffered at her husband's hands; and across her honesty of purpose struck a swift desire to take life while she had it and enjoy it to the full. She put the desire away from her; but it returned day by day, and she grew less eager to cast it out. Gradually she let the old life go its way; Griff came and went, and she was glad to see him; she would not look behind.