"Seven days." "Seven days! Seven days!" She was wondering vaguely where she would be in seven days. "It looked very happy," she said presently. "Its father was surely a good man." "They're none too many," said the old woman, as she turned to go. "I'll get my supper and come back t' yo'." "Who is she?" asked her daughter, with the vehemence of an aching question, as she entered the kitchen. Mrs. Lee closed the passage door and looked at her steadily and said, "She's Denzil Carron's wife." And the younger woman sprang to her feet with blazing face and the clatter of a falling chair. "Denzil's wife! I am Denzil Carron's wife." "So's she. And I reckon she's the one they'll call his wife," said her mother dourly. "I'll go to her. I'll tell her----" And she sprang to the door. "Nay, you wun't," said her mother, leaning back against it. "T' blame's not hers, an' hoo's low enough already." "And where is he? Where is Denzil?" "He's in trouble of some kind, but what it is I dunnot know. Sir Denzil's gone back to get him out of it, and he brought her here to be out of it too." "And he'll come here?" "Mebbe. Sir Denzil didna say. He said he'd hold me responsible for her. She's near her time, poor thing! An' I doubt if she comes through it." "Near----!" And the girl blazed out again. "Ay. I shouldna be surprised if it killed her. There's the look o' it in her face." "Kill her? Why should it kill her? It didn't kill me," said the girl fiercely. "Mebbe it would but for yon woman you told me of. Think of your own time, girl, and bate your anger. Fault's not hers if Denzil served you badly." "He connot have two wives." "Worse for him if he has. One's enough for most men. But--well-a-day, it's no good talking! I'll take a bite, and back to her. She begged me come. Yo' can sleep i' my bed. There's more milk on th' hob there if th' child's hungry." And carrying her bread-and-cheese she went off down the passage, and the young mother sat bending over the fire with her elbows on her knees. She had no thought of sleep. Her limbs were still weary from her long tramp, but the food and rest had given her strength, and the coming of this other woman, who called herself Denzil Carron's wife, had fired her with a sense of revolt. The blood was boiling through her veins at thought of it all--at thought of Denzil, at thought of the boy in the next room, and this other woman upstairs. Her heart felt like molten lead kicking in a cauldron. She got up and began to pace the floor with the savage grace born of a life of unrestricted freedom. Once she stopped and flung up her hands as though demanding--what?--a blessing--a curse--the righting of a wrong? The quivering hands looked capable at the moment of righting their own wrongs, or of wreaking vengeance on the wrongdoer if they closed upon him.