'But she hates me. She can never forgive me――and then she is a violent woman. She frightened me years ago. I dislike rough ways and strong tempers. I always did at the time when I was young and strong. Now I cannot endure the least roughness.' 'She is not rough, she is vastly tender. But her strong heart has had its beatings stayed, and her ideas have become twisted about.' 'Ah, yes――she is a passionate woman.' 'She loves passionately, but has had her heart wounded and bruised.' 'Yes, I suppose she has suffered――so have I.' 'She has suffered, therefore she can have compassion.' He remained silent, and shook his head dubiously. 'Tell me about yourself,' he said at last. No doubt he had undergone stormy scenes with Jane that had frightened him, and left on him an impression that could not be eradicated. 'What shall I tell you?' asked Winefred. 'About your youth, and where you lived, and how?' 'We got along, mother and I, as best we could, she hawking tapes and needles, and I――collecting pebbles.' 'There was really no necessity for that.' 'We must live. We had a cottage on the cliffs, but it went to pieces as the cliff cracked and made a chasm. So we were obliged to leave it, and then we had a very bad time, for no one would take us in.' 'You should have gone into lodgings. Your mother had means.' 'Hardly any. One may earn a few pence by the sale of combs and laces, thread and needles, but not much. And I was indeed proud if I got ninepence for a cornelian.' 'I do not understand. Why did you go to that man――that captain――I do not recall his name?' 'Oh, you mean Captain Rattenbury. He took us in one night when we were in despair, wet to the bone, and had no shelter for our heads, and every door was shut against us.' 'But if you had asked Olver Dench, he would have provided for you.' 'He! he is our worst enemy.' 'That cannot be.' 'He is. Mother cannot endure him. He does not love us.' 'I see no reason for this. He has been my paymaster.' 'What do you mean, father?' 'I have sent him money every quarter for your mother. I have done so for eighteen or nineteen years.' 'You have sent him money!' exclaimed Winefred in amazement. 'I am certain that my mother has received nothing.' 'Impossible that he can have withheld it!' said Mr. Holwood, really aghast. 'Did your mother not tell you that she had an allowance from me?' 'My mother hid nothing from me. At times, when we had sold nothing, we really had not enough to eat. I am positive that she never had anything from Olver Dench.' Mr. Holwood beat his brow. 'I am innocent in this matter,' he said. 'Write to your mother and explain. I am innocent indeed. I have wronged her in many ways, but not in this. I sent her money when I could ill afford to part with it, but I never failed to send regularly. Whenever my salary came in, I transmitted a share to her before I spent anything on myself. But Olver said――――' He hesitated, and looked down. 'What did Olver Dench say?'