"You turned her off—yes, she came to me, poor child. You had taken too much and didn't know what you were doing."
The man's face was ghastly pale.
"What do yer mean?" he said.
"You took too much, and you were cruel to your child. She came to me in bitter grief. I did what I could to soothe her; I assured her that I know you well, and that you'd be all right and quite ready to welcome her home in the morning."
"Well, and so I be. Welcome my lass home? There ain't naught I wouldn't do for her; the best that can be got is for my Connie. Oh, my dear, sweet little gel! It's the fatted calf she'll 'ave—the Prodigal didn't have a bigger welcome."
"But she is no prodigal. She was sinned against; she didn't sin. Doubtless she did wrong to be discontented. She was never very strong, perhaps, either in mind or body, and she got under bad influence. She was often afraid to go home, Peter Harris, because of you; for you were so savage to her when you took, as you call it, a drop too much. I'll tell you another time her story, for there is not a moment now to spare; you must get up and help to find her."
Peter Harris sprang to his feet just as though an electric force had pulled him to that position.
"Find her?" he said. "But she were here—here! Where be she? Wot did yer do with her, Father John?"
"I didn't dare to bring her back here last night, and she could not stay with me. I was taking her to Giles and Sue when——"
"Man—speak!"