His father--aristocrat, spendthrift, adventurer, renegade, who married her in secret, and left her, bidding her return to me, until he came again, and she to bear him a child--was he fit to bring up the boy ?" He breathed heavily, his face became wan and haggard, as he continued: "Restless on land or sea, for ever seeking some new thing, and when he found it, and saw what was therein, he turned away forgetful.

God put it into my heart to abjure him and the life around him.

The Voice made me rescue the child from a life empty and bare and heartless and proud.
When he returned, and my child was in her grave, he came to me in secret; he claimed the child of that honest lass whom he had married under a false name.

I held my hand lest I should kill him, man of peace as I am.

Even his father--Quaker though he once became--did we not know ere the end that he had no part or lot with us, that he but experimented with his soul, as with all else?
Experiment--experiment--experiment, until at last an Eglington went exploring in my child's heart, and sent her to her grave--the God of Israel be her rest and refuge! What should such high-placed folk do stooping out of their sphere to us who walk in plain paths?
What have we in common with them?
My soul would have none of them--masks of men, the slaves of riches and titles, and tyrants over the poor." His voice grew hoarse and high, and his head bent forward.