"Wait a minute. Where's my wits? We're married now. I don't want mother. I want you—only you. We're married, William. Damn it, old boy, you was at the wedding. Why are you in the kennel-maid's togs, Margery? I don't like that."
"Quite right," declared the old man, winking at Auna. "You get out of 'em, Mrs. Bullstone, so quick as you can. Let her go, Jacob."
"Not to Adam Winter—not to him."
"I'll come back ever so quick," promised Auna.
But a change had come over her father.
"I see it now. You're dead—you're dead, Margery. You've come because I'm going to die. She's dead, Billy. It was only a wishtness—standing there. She's gone!" he continued, as Auna slipped away. "Did you see her too?"
"I see her very plain and beautiful, Jacob; and don't you worry about it. All's well. Where there is Margery, there is hope—such a hopeful one as her. Just you bide so hopeful as you can and trust yourself to God."
"Didn't she have a message? Where did she come from? Oh, Christ, William, I'm in everlasting torture. Would God put a man in hell before he's dead?"
"Quiet then! Force yourself to lie still and listen to me. I'll do the talking."
"Give me something to drink."