He knelt by her with his arms round her. She was astonished at the mastery of passion in him. She had never thought of him but as passionless. 'To-night,' he said, and tenderness crept back into his voice, 'is my bridal. There is no saving for me now in denial, only in fulfilment. I can forgive much, Hazel, for I love much. But I can't renounce any more.' Hazel had heard nothing of what he said since the words, 'when you give me a son.' They rang in her brain. She felt dazed. At last she looked up affrightedly. 'But,' she said, 'when I have the baby, it unna be yours, but his'n.' 'What?' 'It--it'll be his'n.' 'What?' He questioned foolishly, like a child. He could not understand. 'It's gone four month since midsummer,' she said, 'and Sally said I was wi' child of--of--' 'You need not go on, Hazel.' Edward's face looked pinched. The passion had gone, and a deathly look replaced it. He was robbed, utterly and cruelly. He could no longer believe in a God, or how could such things be? Manhood was denied him. The last torture was not denied him--namely, that he saw the full satire of his position, saw that it was his own love that had destroyed them both. Out of his complete ruin he arose joyless, hopeless, but great in a tenderness so vast and selfless that it almost took the place of what he had lost. Hazel was again his inspiration, not as an ideal, but as a waif. In his passion of pity for her he forgot everything. He had something to live for again. 'Poor child!' he said. 'Come home. I will take care of you.' 'But--the old lady?' 'You are first.' She caught his hands; she flung herself upon his shoulder in a rush of tears. If this was his tragic moment, it was also hers. 'Oh, Ed'ard, Ed'ard!' she cried, 'it's you as I'd lief have for my lover! It's you as I'm for, body and soul, if I'm for a mortal man! It's your baby as I want, Ed'ard, and I wouldna be feared o' the pain as Sally told of if it was yours. What for didna you tell me in the spring o' the year, Ed'ard? It be winter now, and late and cold.' 'There, there! you don't know what you're saying. Come home!' Edward did not listen to her, she knew. And, indeed, his brain was weary, and could take in no more. He only knew he must care for Hazel as Christ cared for the lambs of His fold. And darkly on his dark mind loomed his new and bitter creed, 'There is no Christ.' Chapter 35 Martha met them on the doorstep, crying, hiccoughing, and enraged. 'Why, Martha!' Edward looked at her in astonishment. It is usually the supers, and not the principals, that raise lamentation in the midst of tragedy--'why, Martha, have you lost someone dear to you?' He knew all about that loss. 'I've lost nought, sir; thank God my good name's my own, and not gone like some folk's; but I'm bound to give notice, sir, not having fault to find, being as good a master as ever stepped. But seeing the missus is going--' 'The missus?'