'That is as much as saying that my mother is guilty. She could not do it. She could not do it. She would not do it. When did she ever cheat in a matter of a finger's breadth of ribbon. Did not she always sell thirteen for twelve, never eleven, never, never? I know my mother, I have known her since I was a little babe, and I never, never knew her do what was not just and true. She could not be a thief. As for these people around, all but Mrs. Jose, let them chatter and slander and backbite if they will. Let them think evil in their hearts, for their hearts are muddy wells that give forth naught but slime. But you――you should be nobler――better――and yet it is you――O! my mother, my dear innocent mother! my mother who――――' Her heart swelled to choke her. She bit her lips, fought with herself. She could not speak more, she would have betrayed her weakness by falling into a convulsion of sobs. 'May I undo the barrier?' asked Jack, after a long pause. Winefred had withdrawn her face into shadow, lest he should see it. 'As you will,' she answered shortly. Then, as he was engaged in removing the fir-poles, and his back was towards her, she broke forth again in rapid speech. 'I know that you are at the bottom of this league formed against us; you and Olver Dench set all in movement, stir up the hive and send them forth with their stings to fall on mother and me. I know what you do――you represent yourself as a lamb and us as wolves. You feeble, bleating lamb! Baa-aah! Look at me, you say, I have no wool. I have been plucked by them.' He raised his hand in deprecation. 'Yes,' she said vehemently, 'do not deny it. You are greedy after compassion, and so you represent us as rogues, and when every one points at us and screams out "Thieves!" you come sneaking up to see the effect, and how we bear it, and burst into laughter if we wince. Mother has no deadlier enemy than the ferryman; you know it, and you go lodge with him, and together you two men contrive schemes against us defenceless women. There is not a child but looks at us with fear, as monsters of wickedness; not a woman who does not think we infect the neighbourhood. And then, when we are stung and torn, you creep up to gloat on our tears. You will not stand forward openly; you peep through holes. It gave you pleasure. You chuckled and rubbed your hands because no girl spoke with me, no lad asked me to dance――because there, in a crowd, I was alone――quite alone.' Her bosom tossed like a stormy sea. 'But what care I for being alone? I am glad that I am so in the midst of a rabble of mean and spiteful girls and country clowns.' 'Winefred――――' 'How dare you call me Winefred? I am――――' 'Oh! I forgot. Miss Holwood.'