"Weekes," answered the old man, "I want to pray you by all that you hold sacred, by the prosperity that's yours, by your wife and by your child, and by your God--yes, by your God--to let this pass over. Forget it you can't--no more can I--but don't let it be a part of your life, or your thoughts. Don't let it enter into your mind, as a thing to be used. Which of us can live his whole life with the blind up? 'Twas a fatal accident, and I'm not saying a word against sin--my hair be the greyer for it--but--oh, man, don't harbour it; don't hug it, for God's sake--same as you be doing now. I know--I know. I read it in your face every time you and me meet in company. I----" "Stop," interrupted Weekes. "You're wasting your wind, Prout. And you're quite mistaking me. Everyone of us, if we keep our eyes open, hoard a harvest in our memories and collect all sorts of things gleaned up out of the world. Some of the gatherings may be useful, some may not be useful. You never know. A man's memory be like a woman's boxes--full of all sorts; and the wisest man keeps all in order, so as he'll know where to put his finger on anything if he wants it. He may die without using some of the things stored up--or he may find he needs 'em in a hurry any minute. That's how 'tis with me." "What sort of Christian be that who hoards what he knows another creature would dearly wish destroyed? You mean to strike these people when the time comes and you hunger for the chance to do it." "Not a bit. I'm in no hurry to roll 'em over, I do assure you. 'Live and let live' is a very good motto. And 'Let sleeping dogs lie' be another worth remembering. But as to laughing at a good joke--that I always shall do. And the cream of the joke is the fix you be in. For if you wasn't here, I should have no witness; but since you be here, I can blow Brendon to the devil when I like. 'Tis amusing in itself to feel so much stronger than that very strong chap." "He's never wronged you--more have they--her and the master." "How do you know that?" "You'd never do it as a Christian man, Jarratt Weekes." "As a Christian man I ought to do it. 'Twould be a good Christian deed, surely, to let the light in on that darkness, and so save the woman's soul alive. But it might be a tragical mess if it got out: that I'm free to grant; and I've no intention whatever of saying a word. I'm a very patient man, and can stand hard knocks as well as most. We'll wait and watch, and see what sort of friend Brendon will be to me presently. I've just offered Sarah Jane to be my baby's gossip; so you see I don't harbour no ill-will against the dear creature herself--who could? So long, and keep warm against this piercing wind. Good men are scarcer every day, John Prout!" Jarratt rode away, leaving in the old man's mind a deep uneasiness, somewhat similar in quality to that he had just awakened in the soul of Daniel Brendon's wife. CHAPTER IV THE FARMER COMES HOME