"The man!" thundered Noy, "the man who brot the thing about--the man what ruined--O God o' Hosts, be on my side now! Who weer 'e? Give me the name of en. That's all as I wants." "Us doan't knaw. You see, Joan was away up Drift wi' the Chirgwins, an' theer she was took when they found her arter the drownin'. She never knawed the true name of en herself, poor dear. But 'twas a paintin' man--a artist. It comed out arter as he'd made a picksher of her, an' promised to marry her, an' stawl all she'd got to give 'pon the strength of the lie. Then theer was a letter--" "From the man?" Mrs. Tregenza grew frightened at the thought of mentioning the money, and now adroitly changed the first letter from Barron, which was in her mind when she spoke, to the second, which Joan had received from him on the night of her death. "Iss, from him; an' Mary Chirgwin found it 'pon the dead frame o' the poor gal, but 'twas partly pulp, along o' the water; an' Mary burned it wi'out readin' a word--so she said, at least, though that's difficult to credit, human nature bein' as 'tis." "Then my work's the harder; but I'll find en, s'elp me God, even if us be grawed gray afore we meet." "Think twice, Joe; you caan't bring back your lass, nor wash her sins white. 'Tis tu late." "No, not that, but I can--I'm in God's hand for this. Us be tools, an' He uses all for His awn ends. I sees whereto I was born now, an' the future be writ clear afore my eyes. Thicky madman theer said the word; an' I lay the Lard put it in en for my better light. Er said 'Let'n come home an' call the devil as did it to account.' He was thinkin' o' me when he said it, though he dedn' knaw me." "Iss fay, 'tis generally allowed he be the lips o' God A'mighty now. But you, Joe--doan't 'e waste life an' hard-won money huntin' down a damned man. Leave en to his deserts." "'Tis I that be his deserts, wummon--'tis I, in the hand o' the God o' Vengeance. That's my duty now standin' stark ahead o' me. The Lard's pleased to pay all my prayers an' good livin' like this here. His will be done, an' so it shall to the dregs of it; an' if I be for the pit arter all, theer's wan livin' as gaws along wi' me." "That's worse than a fool's thot. Bide till you'm grawed cool anyways. 'Tis very hard this fallin' 'pon a virtuous member like what you be; but 'tedn' a straange tale 'tall. The man was like other men, I doubt; the maid was like other maids. You thot differ'nt. You was wrong; an' you'll be wrong again to break your heart now. Let en go--'tis best."