She must keep her place at the mill: he would not begin his new life by an act of injustice, taking the bread out of Margret's mouth.

LITTLE MARGRET! He stopped suddenly, looking down into a deep pool of water by the road-side.
What madness of weariness crossed his brain just then I do not know.
He shook it off.

Was he mad?
Life was worth more to him than to other men, he thought; and perhaps he was right.

He went slowly through the cool dusk, looking across the fields, up at the pale, frightened face of the moon hooded in clouds: he did not dare to look, with all his iron nerve, at the dark figure beyond him on the road.

She was sitting there just where he had left her: he knew she would be.