“Here's the man himself, Christian,” said Grannie. “What do you want with him?” “Oh, God bless you, sir,” said the girl to Pete, “God bless you for ever and ever.” Then turning back to Grannie, she explained in woman's fashion, with many words, that somebody unknown had sent her twenty pounds, for the child, by post, the day before, and she had only now guessed who it must be when John the Clerk had told her what Pete had said a week before. Pete grunted and glimed, smoked up the chimney, and said, “That'll do, ma'am, that'll do. Don't believe all you hear. John says more than his Amens, anyway.” “I'm axing your pardon, miss,” said the girl to Kate, “but I couldn't help coming--I couldn't really--no, I couldn't,” and then she began to cry. “Where's that child?” said Pete, heaving up to his feet with a ferocious look. “What! you mane to say you've left the lil thing alone, asleep? Go back to it then immajent. Good night!” “Good night, sir, and God bless you, and when you're married to-morrow, God bless your wife as well!” “That'll do--that'll do,” said Pete, backing her to the porch. “You desarve a good woman, sir, and may the Lord be good to you both.” “Tut! tut!” said Pete, and he tut-tutted her out of the house. She smoothed her baby's hair more tenderly than ever that night, and kissed it again and again. Kate could scarcely breathe, she could barely see. Her pride and her will had broken down utterly. This greathearted man loved her. He would lay down his life if need be to save her. To morrow he would marry her. Here, then, was her rock of refuge--this strong man by her side. She could struggle against fate no longer. It's invisible hand was pushing her on. It's blind power was dragging her. If Philip would not come to claim her she must marry Pete. And Pete? She meant no harm to Pete. She had not yet thought of things from Pete's point of view. He was like the camel-bag in the desert to the terrified wayfarer when the sand-cloud breaks oyer him. He flies to it. It shelters him. But what of the camel itself, with its head in the storm? Until the storm is over he does not think of that. XIX. Meantime Philip himself was in the throes of his own agony. At the news of Kate's illness he was overwhelmed with remorse, and when he inquired if she had been delirious, he was oppressed with a sense of meanness never felt before. At his meeting with Pete he realised for the first time to what depths his duplicity had degraded him. He had prided himself on being a man of honour, and he was suddenly thrown out of the paths in which he could walk honourably.