"Haven't I good reason?" Her hands clenched at the words. "It's that which has come between us, as well as the farm. Since he's been back here, it's the old ideas that have got hold of him again. He thinks he's in mortal sin--he thinks he's damned--and yet he won't--he can't give me up. My poor old John!--We were so happy those few weeks!--why couldn't they leave us alone!--That hard old man, Lord William!--and Mr. Edward--who's got you--and everything he wants besides in the world! There--now I suppose you'll turn against me too!" She stood superbly at bay, her little body drawn up against the wall, her head thrown back. To her own dismay, Marcia found herself sobbing--against her will. "I'm not against you. Indeed--indeed--I'm not against you! You'll see. I'll go again to Mr. Newbury--I promise you! He's not hard--he's not cruel--he's not!..." "Hush!" said Mrs. Berts, suddenly, springing forward--"there he is!" And trembling all over, she pointed to the figure of her husband, standing just outside the window and looking in upon them. Thunder had been rumbling round the house during the whole of this scene, and now the rain had begun. It beat on the bare grizzled head of John Betts, and upon his weather-beaten cheeks and short beard. His expression sent a shudder through Marcia. He seemed to be looking at them--and yet not conscious of them; his tired eyes met hers, and made no sign. With a slight puzzled gesture he turned away, back into the pelting rain, his shoulders bent, his step faltering and slow. "Oh! go after him!" said Marcia, imploringly. "Don't trouble about me! I'll find the motor. Go! Take my cloak!" She would have wrapped it round Mrs. Betts and pushed her to the door. But the woman stopped her. "No good. He wouldn't listen to me. I'll get one of the men to bring him in. And the servant'll go for your motor." She went out of the room to give the order, and came back. Then as she saw Marcia under the storm light, standing in the middle of the room, and struggling with her tears, she suddenly fell on her knees beside the girl, embracing her dress, with stifled sobs and inarticulate words of thanks. "Make them do something for John. It doesn't matter about me. Let them comfort John. Then I'll forgive them." CHAPTER XIII