Amy had walked all the long distance from the station and had lost her way and had to ask directions several times. Again and again she had all but lain down to die on the moorland waste onto which she had wandered. Then the thought of Corney and his need roused her again. Wet all the way through, blown about by the wind so that she could hardly breathe, and faint with hunger and cold, she struggled on. When at last she got to the lodge gate, the woman in charge of it took her for a common beggar and could hardly be persuaded to let her pass. But then she heard her husband’s cry. She saw the lighted window, ran into the grounds and straight toward it, dashed it open and entered. It was the last expiring effort of the poor remnant of her strength. She had not life enough left to resist the shock of her father-in-law’s blows.

While the father was still looking down on his children, the door opened softly and the mother entered. She did not even know that her husband had returned and had come in merely to know how her unlovely but beloved child was faring in his sleep. She stood still. She saw what looked like a murdered heap on the floor, and her husband standing over it. Behind her came Hester, who looked over her shoulder and understood at once.

She nearly pushed her mother aside as she sprang to help. Her father tried to prevent her. “No, father!” she said. “It is time to disobey!”

All was clear to her! Amy had come, and died defending her husband from her father! Hester put her strong arms around the dainty little figure and lifted it limp, its long wet hair and helpless head hanging over the crook of her arm. She gave a great sob. Was this what Amy’s lovely, brave womanhood had brought her to! What creatures men were! She glanced down and saw on Amy’s neck a frightful swollen welt.

She looked to her father. There was the whip in his hand.

“Oh, papa!” she screamed. She could not look him in the face. As she dropped her eyes, she saw the terrified face of Cornelius open its eyes.

“Oh, Corney!” said Hester, in the tone of an accusing angel, and ran from the room with Amy in her arms.

The mother darted to her son.

But the wrath of the father rose afresh at the sight.

“Let the hound lie!” he said, stepping between them. “What right has he to walk the earth like a man?”

“You’ve killed him, Gerald!—your own son!” said the mother with a cold, still voice.