"I could have--and the way people talked.... I'd have locked her up sooner than ... well, it's too late now ... the boat went at twelve. Oh, Arthur, why didn't you watch her properly? Why did you let her go like that? Think of it! What's to become of her--away in foreign parts with a man who ain't her husband ... my liddle Ellen ... oh, it's turble--turble--" Her speech suddenly roughened into the Doric of the Marsh, and she sat down heavily, dropping her head to her knees. "Joanna--don't, don't ... don't take on, Jo." He had not seen her cry before, and now she frightened him. Her shoulders heaved, and great panting sobs shook her broad back. "My liddle Ellen ... my treasure, my duckie ... oh, why have you left us?... You could have come back to me if you didn't like it.... Oh, Ellen, where are you?... Come back ..." Arthur stood motionless beside her, his frame rigid, his protuberant blue eyes staring through the window at the horizon. He longed to take Joanna in his arms, caress and comfort her, but he knew that he must not. "Cheer up," he said at last in a husky voice, "maybe it ain't so bad as you think. Maybe I'll find her at home when I get back to Donkey Street." "Not if she took her bag. Oh, whatsumever shall we do?--whatsumever shall we do?" "We can but wait. If she don't come back, maybe she'll send me a letter." "It queers me how you can speak so light of it." "I speak light?" "Yes, you don't seem to tumble to it." "Reckon I do tumble to it, but what can we do?" "You shouldn't have left her alone all that time from breakfast till dinner--if you'd gone after her at the start you could have brought her back. You should ought to have kicked Sir Harry out of Donkey Street before the start. I'd have done it surely. Reckon I love Ellen more'n you." "Reckon you do, Jo. I tell you, I ought never to have married her--since it was you I cared for all along." "Hold your tongue, Arthur. I'm ashamed of you to choose this time to say such an immoral thing." "It ain't immoral--it's the truth." "Well, it shouldn't ought to be the truth. When you married Ellen you'd no business to go on caring for me. I guess all this is a judgment on you, caring for a woman when you'd married her sister." "You ain't yourself, Jo," said Arthur sadly, "and there's no sense arguing with you. I'll go away till you've got over it. Maybe I'll have some news for you to-morrow morning." Sec.27 To-morrow morning he had a letter from Ellen herself. He brought it at once to a strangely drooping and weary-eyed Joanna, and read it again over her shoulder. "DEAR ARTHUR," it ran--