"I have thought of everything," she said, lifting her calm eyes. "He'll not interfere with Hannah; she'll be allowed to go to Petersfield whenever you want her, and she'll go to church just the same; and so shall I." She turned to old Mrs. Barton and went on: "Hannah is James's child, and she'll be brought up as James's people wish. She is a girl that will have a will of her own--she has got it already, and it will grow. There is no occasion to be anxious about her."

"And what's to become of the farm?"

"The farm will stand where it is. I shall deal fairly by it for Hannah, if that's what you are thinking of."

Then the old man came to the rescue. "God will not have mercy on you hereafter, Annie, if you marry this unbeliever."

"Father, I will trust God to deal fairly by me. He'll not do less than man." She paused a moment and then went on: "You mustn't think I haven't thought it over, for I have. We must all work out our salvation for ourselves, and if we start from different points, and if Mr. Vincent has chosen a different road that we don't go along ourselves, why, I think the end will be the same for us all who try to do our best. It would be shaking one's confidence in God to think different. But you'll be wanting your tea, and it will be better than arguing about a man you don't understand, and one that I am going to marry, say what you will."

"I never thought you'd be so obstinate, Annie," Mrs. Barton said.

But nothing moved the mistress of Woodside Farm, and the old people felt their visit to be a mistake. They had not gained their point by coming; on the contrary, they were going away beaten, and they didn't like the position. They even began to cherish a latent hope that Mr. Vincent would not return before they left, lest they should come off second best in argument with him too. Meanwhile, they made a large and mournful meal with the air of folk at a funeral feast, for they felt that it might be the last time they would sit round the big oak table. Luckily the tea was strong and the cream thick. Towsey's scones were admirable, the strawberries in the jam were whole, and the poached eggs and ham done to a turn. Then the fly was brought to the door, a reproachful farewell taken of Mrs. Barton, and the disconsolate pair drove away towards Haslemere station.

Gerald Vincent and Mrs. Barton were married a month later. Outwardly it made little difference in their relations. The best parlor was still his own retreat, 

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