“Father,” she said, “have you not read in the Bible that those who sow the wind shall reap the whirlwind? I do not profess to know much about the ways of God toward men--there are people who, while they tell me one minute that His ways are past finding out, will, the next, interpret with absolute confidence the most incomprehensible of His acts. But I have taken note of some things that I have seen, and that is one of them--the whirlwind harvest. Here we are to-day in this horrible position--why? Because you compelled me to go to the church and make promises, and utter falsehoods by the side of that man for whom I had no feeling of love. If I had ever loved him, would the fact of his going to gaol have made any difference to me? Not the least. It would only have made me love him more dearly, knowing that my love would mitigate his suffering. If I had loved him, would I not have been by his side the moment he got his freedom? If I had loved him, would I have been capable of loving someone else and of marrying that one within three months of his death? The seed was sown, and this is the harvest. I feel for you with all my heart; but I see the justice of it all--I even see that, like every other woman, I have to pay dearly for my one hour of weakness--for my one hour of falsehood to myself.” He had not raised his head all the time that she was speaking, nor did he do so until several moments had passed. He seemed to be considering her words and to be finding that there was something in them, after all. But when he looked up there was not much sign of contrition in his face. “Whatever you may say, there’s no blinking facts, and you know as well as I do what are the facts that face you to-day,” he said, shaking a vehement fist, not as if threatening her, but only to give emphasis to his words. “The facts are, first, that you are the lawful wife of Marcus Blaydon, and secondly, that you are not the lawful wife of John Wingfield, and that if you persist in living with him you are his mistress.” She opened the door this time, but not vehemently. “Go away,” she said, “go away. I might as well have kept silent. I shall work out my own salvation in the face of your opposition and the opposition of the world.” “Your salvation? Woman, it is your own damnation that you are working out in this house--this house of sin!” He took a few steps toward the door and then wheeled round. “One more chance I give you,” he said. “Come with me now, and you will only be asked to resume your former life. I will not insist on your joining your husband--only come away from this house.” “Go away, go away,” she said, without so much as glancing at him. Only one moment longer did he stay--just long enough to say: “May God forgive you, Priscilla.” He contrived, as so many pious people can in saying those words, to utter them as if they were a curse. They sounded in her ears exactly as a curse would have sounded. And then he tramped away.