This was the scheme which the farmer had elaborated during his ireful descent of the lane. He would tell Alice to send for her husband, and she, carrying out her former plan of action, would pretend to write to America and invite him to return, but as soon as Ned appeared he would find he had met his match. Farmer Bolt would desire him and his family to emmygrate out o’ that house, and never set foot in it again.
“That’ll surprise ’em all a bit, I d’ ’low,” said Mr Bolt vengefully to himself.
He did not look at Alice as he spoke, half fearful of prematurely betraying his anger; but after a moment, finding she did not reply, he wheeled in his chair with an enquiring glance.
Alice had dropped her work on her lap and was leaning forward, gazing at him with eyes that were full of tears.
“Well?” he asked impatiently. Before he realised what she was about she had risen from her chair and thrown her arms round his neck.
“Oh, father,” she cried. “Oh, father, I can’t bear it! You’re so good—so good to me, an’ I’ve been that wicked and deceitful!”
As she uttered the last word, the farmer, who at first had struggled to free himself, became suddenly passive in her embrace.
“I have, I have,” she went on, sobbing. “There, mother, I be a-goin’ to tell en everything. I couldn’t go on actin’ lies when he be so kind. Oh, father, I’ve deceived ye shameful. Ned isn’t in Ameriky at all—he never emmygrated. ’Twas jist a made-up story.”
Shaking with sobs she clung closer to her father, who still sat immovable and looking straight before him.
“I don’t wonder ye can scarce believe it,” she wept. “I could never ha’ believed it o’ myself, but we was so wretched, Ned an’ me, an’ so terr’ble bad off, an’ I thought if ye once had me back i’ my wold place ye’d maybe get fond o’ me again—ye used to be so fond o’ me, father. I thought ye’d maybe take to the childern—an’ that by-and-by ye’d maybe forgive Ned, an’ gie en the carter’s place.”