“If you please,” Mary said hesitatingly, “I would rather that you would not be there when feyther comes back. Of course I shall tell him that I have been down to see you, and I know he will be very angry.” “I think I shall be able to put that straight. I can't let your father go. God knows I have few enough true friends, and I cannot spare him and you; and as for Bill Swinton, he would break his heart if you went.” “Bill's only a boy; he will get over it,” Polly said in a careless tone, but with a bright flush upon her cheek. “He is nearly as old as you are, Polly, and he is one of the best fellows in the world. I know he's not your equal in education, but a steadier, better fellow, never was.” Mary made no reply, and in another minute the two set out together for Varley. In spite of Ned's confident assurance that he would appease Luke's anger, Mary was frightened when, as they entered the cottage, she saw Luke standing moodily in front of the fire. “Oi expected this,” he said in a tone of deep bitterness. “Oi were a fool vor to think as you war different to other gals, and that you would give up your own wishes to your feyther's.” “Oh, feyther!” Polly cried, “don't speak so to me. Beat me if you like, I deserve to be beaten, but don't speak to me like that. I am ready to go anywhere you like, and to be a good daughter to you; forgive me for this once disobeying you.” “Luke, old friend,” Ned said earnestly, putting his hand on the cropper's shoulder, “don't be angry with Polly, she has done me a great service. I have learned the truth, and know what you meant now by a life for a life. You were going to sacrifice yourself for me. You were going to take upon yourself a crime which you never committed to clear me. You went to York to declare yourself the murderer of Mulready, in case I had been found guilty. You were going to emigrate to America to send home a written confession.” “Who says as how oi didn't kill Foxey?” Luke said doggedly. “If oi choose to give myself oop now who is to gainsay me?”