She was strong before him now; her temper appeared in her voice and she took her basket and rose to leave him. "Wait one moment. Chance threw us here, and I'll never speak to you again if you resent it. But, meeting you like this, something seemed to tell me to say a word and let you know. I'm sorry you are so wretched--honestly." "I ban't wretched! Never was a happier wife." "Never was a better one, I know; but happy? Think. I was fond of you once and I can read between the lines--the little thin lines on your forehead. They are newcomers. I'm not deceived. Nor is it hidden. That the man has proved faithless is common knowledge now. Facts are hard things and you've got the fact under your eyes. The child's his living image." "Who told you, and how dare you foul my ears and thoughts with such lies?" she asked, her bosom heaving. "You'm a coward, as you always was, but never more a coward than this minute." "D' you pretend that nobody has told you this? Aren't your own eyes bright enough to see it?" The man was in a pitiful mood, and now he grew hot and forgot himself wholly before her stinging contempt. She did not reply to his question and he continued,-- "Your silence is an answer. You know well enough. Who's the mother? Perhaps you know that, too. Is she more to him than you are?" Phoebe made a great effort to keep herself from screaming. Then she moved hastily away, but Grimbal stopped her and dared her to proceed. "Wait. I'll have this out. Why don't you face him with it and make him tell you the truth? Any plucky woman would. The scandal grows into a disgrace and your father's a fool to stand it. You can tell him so from me." "Mind your awn business an' let me pass, you hulking, gert, venomous wretch!" she cried. Then a blackguard inspiration came to the man, and, suffering under a growing irritation with himself as much as with Phoebe, he conceived an idea by which his secret might after all be made a bitter weapon. He assured himself, even while he hated the sight of her, that justice to Phoebe must be done. She had dwelt in ignorance long enough. He determined to tell her that she was the wife of a deserter. The end gained was the real idea in his mind, though he tried to delude himself. The sudden idea that he might inform Blanchard through Phoebe of his knowledge really actuated him. "You may turn your head away as if I was dirt, you little fool, and you may call me what names you please; but I'm raising this question for your good, not my own. What do I care? Only it's a man's part to step in when he sees a woman being trampled on." "A man!" she said. "You'm not in our lives any more, an' we doan't want 'e in 'em. More like to a meddlin' auld woman than a man, if you ax me." "You can say that? Then we'll put you out of the question. I, at least, shall do my duty."