CHAPTER THREE
"THE LORD IS KING"
Michael Tregenza instantly observed Joan where she sat by the window, and,
seeing her, stood still. The fish fell from his hand and dropped slithering
in a heap on the stone floor. There was a silence so great that all could
hear a patter of drops from the fisherman's oilskins as the water rolled to
the ground. At the same moment gusts of rising wind shook the casement and
bleared the glass in it with rain. Joan, as she rose and stood near Mr.
Chirgwin, heard her heart thump and felt the blood leap. Then she nerved
herself, came a little forward, and spoke before her father had time to do
so. He had now turned his gaze from her and was looking at the farmer.
"Faither," she said very gently, "faither dearie, forgive me. I begs it so
hard; 'tis the thing I wants most. I feared to see 'e, but you was sent off
the waters that I might. I comed in tremblin' an' sorrer to see wheer I've
lived most all my short days. I'm that differ'nt now to what I was. Uncle
Thomas'll tell 'e. I know I'm a sinful, wicked wummon, an' I'm heart-broke
day an' night for the shame I've brot 'pon my folks. I'll trouble 'e no
more if 'e will awnly say the word. Please, please, faither, forgive."
She stood without moving, as did he. Uncle Chirgwin watched silently. Mrs.
Tregenza made some stir at the fire to conceal her anxiety. No relenting
glimmer softened either the steel of Gray Michael's eyes or one line in his
great face.
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