And now Barnabas saw that, with her apron and mobcap, the country serving-maid had vanished quite. In her stead was a noble woman, proud and stately, whose clear, sad eyes returned his gaze with a gentle dignity; Clemency indeed was gone, but Beatrix had come to life. Yet, when he spoke, Barnabas used the name he had known her by first.
"Clemency," said he, "your father is seeking for you."
"My—father!" she exclaimed, speaking in a whisper. "You have seen—my father? You know him?"
"Yes. I met him—not long ago. His name is Ralph Darville, he told me, and he goes up and down the countryside searching for you—has done so, ever since he lost you, and he preaches always Forgiveness and Forgetfulness of Self!"
"My father!" she whispered again with quivering lips. "Preaching?"
"He tramps the roads hoping to find you, Clemency, and he preaches at country wakes and fairs because, he told me, he was once a very selfish man, and unforgiving."
"And—oh, you have seen him, you say,—lately?" she cried.
"Yes. And I sent him to Frittenden—to the 'Spotted Cow.' But
Clemency, he was just a day too late."
Now when Barnabas said this, Clemency uttered a broken cry, and covered her face.
"Oh, father!" she whispered, "if I had only known,—if I could but have guessed! Oh, father! father!"