Only pride of family
remained. There were but few Tregenzas left and soon there would be none
unless Tom carried on the name. Michael was the quintessence of the
Tregenza spirit, the fruit of generations, the high-water mark. He stood on
that giddy pinnacle which has religious mania for its precipice. To damn a
dead woman was easier than to accept a wanton daughter. Better an
unfaithful wife than that any soul born of Tregenza blood should be lost.
So he washed his hands of both, thanking God, who had launched the truth
into his mind at last; and then he rose to his feet as Joan entered the
room.
She stood for a moment in the doorway with her blue eyes fixed in amazement
upon the kitchen table. Then she grew very red to the roots of her hair and
came forward. There was almost a joy in her mind that the long story of
falsehood must end at last. She did not fear her father now and looked up
into his face quite calmly as she approached the table.
"These be mine," she said. "Was it you, faither, as took 'em from wheer
they was?"
"'Twas me, Joan," answered Mrs. Tregenza; "an' I judge the Lard led me."
The girl stood erect and scornful.
"I'm glad you found them; now I can tell the truth."
"Truth!" thundered Michael. "Truth--what do you knaw 'bout Truth, darter o'
Baal? Your life's a lie, your tongue's rotten in your mouth wi' lyin'.
Never look in no honest faace agin!"
"You'd do best to bide still while I tell 'e what this here means," said
Joan quietly.
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