sen!--niver wroate to his old feyther--niver coomed back, 'Ee wor
tall-loike, an' thea said 'e feavored mea." He stopped, threw up his
head, and with his skinny fingers drew back his long, straggling locks
from his sunken cheeks, and stared in her face. The quick transition
of fascination, repulsion, shock, and indefinable apprehension made her
laugh hysterically. To her terror he joined in it, and eagerly clasped
her wrists. "Eh, lass! tha knaws John--tha coomes from un to ole
grandfeyther. Who-rr-u! Eay! but tha tho't to fool mea, did tha, lass?
Whoy, I knoawed tha voice, for a' tha foine peacock feathers. So tha be
John's gell coom from Ameriky. Dear! a dear! Coom neaur, lass! let's see
what tha's loike. Eh, but thou'lt kiss tha grandfather, sewerly?"
A wild terror and undefined consternation had completely overpowered
her! But she made a desperate effort to free her wrists, and burst out
madly:--
"Let me go! How dare you! I don't know you or yours! I'm nothing to you
or your kin! My name is Desborough--do you understand--do you hear me,
Mr. Debs?--DESBOROUGH!"
At the word the old man's fingers stiffened like steel around her
wrists, as he turned upon her a hard, invincible face.
"So thou'lt call thissen Des-borough, wilt tha? Let me tell tha, then,
that 'Debs,' 'Debban,' 'Debbrook,' and 'Des-borough' are all a seame!
Ay! thy feyther and thy feyther's feyther! Thou'lt be a Des-borough,
will tha? Dang tha! and look doon on tha kin, and dress thissen in silks
o' shame! Tell 'ee thou'rt an ass, gell! Don't tha hear? An ass! for all
tha bean John's bairn! An ass! that's what tha beast!"
With flashing eyes and burning cheeks she made one more supreme
effort, lifting her arms, freeing her wrists, and throwing the old man
staggering from her. Then she leaped the stile, turned, and fled through
the rain. But before she reached the end of the field she stopped! She
had freed herself--she was stronger than he--what had she to fear? He
was crazy! Yes, he MUST be crazy, and he had insulted her, but he was an
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