She stood for a moment in the doorway with her blue eyes fixed in amazement upon the kitchen table. Then she grew very red to the roots of her hair and came forward. There was almost a joy in her mind that the long story of falsehood must end at last. She did not fear her father now and looked up into his face quite calmly as she approached the table. "These be mine," she said. "Was it you, faither, as took 'em from wheer they was?" "'Twas me, Joan," answered Mrs. Tregenza; "an' I judge the Lard led me." The girl stood erect and scornful. "I'm glad you found them; now I can tell the truth." "Truth!" thundered Michael. "Truth--what do you knaw 'bout Truth, darter o' Baal? Your life's a lie, your tongue's rotten in your mouth wi' lyin'. Never look in no honest faace agin!" "You'd do best to bide still while I tell 'e what this here means," said Joan quietly. The man's anger alarmed her no more than the squeak of a caged rat. "I ban't no darter o' Baal, an' the money's come by honest. I've lied afore, but never shall again. An' I've let Joe go 'is ways thinkin' I loved en, which I doan't. I be tokened to a furriner from London, an' he's took me for his awn, an' he be gwaine to come down-long mighty soon an' take me away. But I couldn't tell 'e nothin' of that 'cause he bid me keep my mouth shut. So theer." "'Took 'e for 'is awn'! Wheer is he, then? Why be you here?" "He'm comin', I tell 'e. He'm a true man, an' he shawed me what 'tis to love." "Bought you, you damned harlot!" She knew the word was vile, but a shred of John Barron's philosophy supported her. "My awnly sin is I've lied to you, faither; an' you've no right to call me evil names." "Never call me faither no more, lewd slut! I be no faither o' thine, nor never was. God A'mighty! a Tregenza a wanton! I'd rather cut my hand off than b'lieve it so. It's this--this--blood-money--the price o' a damned sawl! No more lyin'. I knaw--I knaw--an' the picksher--the ship of a true man. It did ought to break your heart to see it, if you had wan. A devil-spawned painting feller, in coorse. An' his black heart happy an' content 'cause he've sent this filth. You stare, wi' your mother's eyes--you stare, an' stare. Hell's yawning for 'e, wretched wummon, an' for him as brot 'e to it!" "He doan't believe in hell, no more doan't I," said Joan calmly; "an' it ban't a faither's plaace to damn's awn flaish an' blood no way." "Never name me thy faither no more! I ban't your faither, I tell 'e, an' I do never mean to see thy faace agin. Go wheer you'm minded; but get 'e gone from here. Tramp the broad road with the crowd--the narrer path's closed agin 'e. And this--this--let it burn same as him what sent it will." He picked up the note nearest to him, crumpled it into a ball and flung it upon the fire. "Michael, Michael!" cried his wife, rushing forward, "for God's love, what be doin' of? The money ban't damned; the money's honest!"