When, finally, Giles begged to know how soon his legacy would be paid, and hinted that he couldn't stay any longer than to get possession of the money, for, hard as it might be to leave an old home, he must stop going to the mill, or getting the horses shod, or sitting in the Unicorn bar-room of a Saturday night, and a man might as well be in jail at once, and be done with it--when Alfred Barton heard all this, he deliberated, for a few minutes, whether it would not be a good thing to cut his own throat. Either that, or beg for mercy; no other course was left. That evening he stole up to the village, fearful, at every step, of being seen and recognized, and knocked timidly at Dr. Deane's door. Martha and her father were sitting together, when he came into the room, and they were equally startled at his appearance. His large frame seemed to have fallen in, his head was bent, and his bushy whiskers had become quite gray; deep wrinkles seamed his face; his eyes were hollow, and the corners of his mouth drooped with an expression of intolerable misery. “I wanted to say a word to Miss Martha, if she'll let me,” he said, looking from one to the other. “I allowed thee to speak to my daughter once too often,” Dr. Deane sternly replied. “What thee has to say now, must be said in my presence.” He hesitated a moment, then took a chair and sat down, turning towards Martha. “It's come to this,” he said, “that I must have a little mercy, or lay hands on my own life. I haven't a word to say for myself; I deserve it all. I'll do anything that's wanted of me--whatever Mary says, or people think is her right that she hasn't yet got, if it's mine to give. You said you wished me well, Miss Martha, even at the time I acted so shamefully; I remember that, and so I ask you to help me.” She saw that he spoke truth, at last, and all her contempt and disgust could not keep down the quick sensation of pity which his wretchedness inspired. But she was unprepared for his appeal, and uncertain how to answer it. “What would you have me do?” she asked. “Go to Mary on my behalf! Ask her to pardon me, if she can, or say what I can do to earn her pardon--that the people may know it. They won't be so hard on me, if they know she's done that. Everything depends on her, and if it's true, as they say, that she's going to sue for a divorce and take back her own name for herself and Gilbert, and cut loose from me forever, why, it'll just”-- He paused, and buried his face in his hands. “I have not heard of that,” said Martha. “Haven't you?” he asked. “But it's too likely to be true.” “Why not go directly to Mary, yourself?” “I will, Miss Martha, if you'll go with me, and maybe say a kind word now and then,--that is, if you think it isn't too soon for mercy!” “It is never too soon to _ask_ for mercy,” she said, coming to a sudden decision. “I will go with you; let it be tomorrow.” “Martha,” warned Dr. Deane, “isn't thee a little hasty?”