from one to the other questioningly, knitting her brows slightly at the sight of Liz's tears. In answer to her glance Liz spoke querulously.
"It's th' parson, Joan," she said. "He comn to talk like th' rest on 'em an' he maks me out too ill to burn."
Just at that moment the child set up a fretful cry and Joan crossed the room and took it up in her arms.
"Yo've feart th' choild betwixt yo'," she said, "if yo've managed to do nowt else."
"I felt it my duty as Rector of the parish," explained Barholm somewhat curtly, "I felt it my duty as Rector of the parish, to endeavor to bring your friend to a proper sense of her position."
Joan turned toward him.
"Has tha done it?" she asked.
The Reverend Harold felt his enthusiasm concerning the young woman dying out.
"I—I—" he stammered.
Joan interrupted him,
"Dost tha see as tha has done her any good?" she demanded. "I dunnot mysen."
"I have endeavored to the best of my ability to improve her mental condition," the minister replied.
"I thowt as much," said Joan; "I mak' no doubt tha'st done thy best, neyther. Happen tha'st gi'en her what comfort tha had to spare, but if yo'd been wiser than yo' are, yo'd ha' let her alone. I'll warrant theer is na a parson 'twixt here an' Lunnon, that could na ha' towd her that she's a sinner an' has shame to bear; but happen theer is na a parson 'twixt here an' Lunnon as she could na ha' towd that much to, hersen. Howivver, as tha has said thy say, happen it'll do yo' fur this toime, an' yo' can let her be for a while."
