She tightened her arms round him and her tears flowed.
"Doan't 'e cry," he said, "unless 'tis for happiness. And I'll speak yet further, Madge, since I'm confessing my sins to-night. There's another that must have credit for this useful talk betwixt me and you."
Her thoughts leapt to Hartley Crocker; but she did not speak.
"I was saying to Rhoda a minute ago in the shed, that 'twas just like you to go up to Ditsworthy for the secret of mother's rabbit pies. And then she--Rhoda, I mean--told me a thing or two I ought to have found out for myself."
"I know right well Rhoda loves me dearly. Whatever--" began his wife; then she broke off.
"Of course--like every other mortal. And she's a woman, and soft too--though not like you. She's content with me as I am, but you're not; and there's no reason why you should be. You're right to ask for a bit of worship from me; and the hard thing is you should have to ask."
"I never--never did, David. I was content too--always content, and proud of you always."
"I know. You didn't ask with your lips. But maybe you asked another way; and I didn't see the question till--till others in the past, and again to-day, put it afore me. I'm a contrite man. I'm--"
She put her hand over his mouth.
"You're a million times too fine and great for me. And I won't hear another word. There ban't a happier she on Dartmoor this minute than me!"