The old man's face twitched painfully when she spoke of the young widow's quarrel with her husband's father.
"He was not accustomed to having his wishes thwarted," said Pearl simply. "He was a man whose word was law in his own household and among his friends. But she had the freedom of the wilderness in her blood, and they quarrelled violently. He was determined to send the boy to England for his education."
"He only said that—he wouldn't have done it—he loved the boy too well," he burst in, impatiently.
"Well, of course, the young mother did not know that—not being a mind-reader, she had no way of telling—and besides, he threatened to take the child from her altogether. He was his son's heir, and he was therefore the guardian of the child. The law was with him, I believe, in that. That is one of the laws that have roused the women to take a hand in public matters.
"So, to save her boy, to keep him for her very own—she allowed her father-in-law to think she had not been legally married. She gave up her good name, to keep her boy. She went away—with only her two hands to make a living for them both."
"Where is she?" cried the old man, with something of his old imperiousness.
Pearl did not at once reply. He should hear all of the story. She did not minimize the hard struggle that Annie Gray had had in her attempts at self support, even when she saw the old man wince. He got it all.
"When she came to the farm on the Souris, she could not tell her story—the fear was on her night and day that she might be discovered, and the child taken from her."
"No judge in the country would do that," he cried stormily. "She had nothing to fear even if—if—"
"Unfortunately," said Pearl quietly, "she did not know that. She believed her father-in-law. She thought it was true, because he had said so, and she knew that the illegitimate child belongs to the mother, and to her alone, so she chose to let it stand at that.