"There," Prudence broke in to the general astonishment, for she had remained so quiet until now that they had almost forgotten her presence, "you are mistaken. The law protects the man in these cases." "Then the law's rotten bad," said Bessie Clapp bitterly. Whether the sudden recollection of his daughter's presence decided Mr Graynor to bring the interview to a close, or if he felt unequal to further discussion is uncertain, but at this point he waved the girl to silence, and unlocking a drawer in the table, took out his cheque book and wrote a cheque and tore it out and passed it across the table to her. "I will see that my son makes suitable provision for the child," he said quaveringly. Bessie Clapp took the cheque and stood with it in her hand, looking at him out of her dark, sombre eyes. "I'm sorry I come," she said falteringly. "I'm going right away from 'ere. You won't see me no more." Then suddenly Prudence rose. She left her place by the fire, and crossing to where the other girl stood beside the table, she bent over the child and took the little fellow by the hand and drew him to her. "I am a childless woman," she said, in a sweet voice full of sympathy, "and I love children. Give him to me." CHAPTER FORTY. A bomb falling in their midst could scarcely have caused a greater sensation than was produced by Prudence's request. The effect of her speech and of her action was electrical. Only the child remained unmoved; and he, reassured doubtless by the quiet composure of her bearing amid the general tension, which he realised without understanding it, and the sweet gentleness of her voice, ceased his plaintive whimpering and stared at her with round eyes filled with wonderment, and forgot his fear. Bessie Clapp stared also, a solemn light in her dark eyes, and with a face grown tender and womanly, with all the hardness gone from its look. But William Graynor, flushed with anger, strode forward to intervene; and the old man, looking with disfavour upon the grouping, uttered: "No, no!" in tones of sharp protest, and put out a hand and touched Prudence's sleeve. "The child will be all right," he said. "Leave this to me." She turned to him with a wistful smile. "He's nobody's bairn," she said. "Nobody wants him--except me." "Your husband wouldn't like it," he remonstrated. "You have to consider him. Take the child away," he added, addressing Bessie Clapp. "I will communicate with you later." Prudence gave the boy into his mother's charge and walked with them to the door. "If I can arrange it, are you willing to give him up to me entirely?" she asked. "Yes, miss," Bessie answered in awed tones; and added, almost in a whisper: "It 'ud be a fine thing for 'im, any'ow." "'E's good," she said, with the door open and her hand upon it. "'E ban't like 'is father; 'e ban't mean."