"Very well, Nan."
"No; not from this moment," said Mr. Merridew, characteristically seeking to justify his former asseveration, "when not for a single moment have I ceased to bless him for preserving my darling's life. How could I disbelieve in him in my heart after that? If I have ever done so it has been when I have seen you sad and sorry. But when I think of all he did for you——"
"Don't; please don't!"
Her face was hidden against him. He might have felt its heat. But it was in the plain troubles only that he was a sympathetic man.
"But I must," he rejoined cheerily. "We must not forget all he did, and I am afraid we have. Why, Nan, what is it?"
"I am going."
"But why? What have I said?"
"Nothing—nothing—only I wish he had let me drown—I wish that!"
And with this hard saying the girl was gone, with tears that puzzled John Merridew to his dying day, and flaming cheeks that dried them as they ran.