o that he
saw them; and, when Mr Harford came the next day, he broke out--

"Them flowers! Them flowers, sir!"

Mr Harford could not understand.

"Them golden chains, sir. They was at the bottom of it."

Mr Harford understood still less.

"They talk of devils' chains, sir, and how they drags a man down. Them
was a link, sure enough. That paper there, sir, I keeps seeing it at
night by the rushlight, and they gets to look just like chains."

Then Mr Harford understood that he meant the laburnums on the paper--
golden chains, as they are often called.

"I was working with George," he said, "before them Carbonels came, and
when there was a piece of the parlour paper left over, I took it for a
parkisit. I didn't let George know; he always seemed too particular.
'Twas more than I had reckoned on; and one bit I papered Mrs Brown's
room, at Downhill, with; and one bit that was left my wife put on the
screen. Then, when the captain made a work about it, I thought it was
mean and shabby in him, and I never could lay my mind to him or his
after that--special after Miss Sophy came and spied it out. I went agen
'em more and more, and all they wanted for the place; and it riled me
the more that my lad should be took up with them and his aunt. And so
the ill-will of it went on with me, worse and worserer. Molly, I say,
take the devils' chains away. They've got a hold of me."

That was his delirious cry. Mr Harford prayed with him and for him,
but never could tell how much was remorse and how much might be
repentance. He was quieter as his strength failed, and his wife said he
made a beautiful end, and that she was sure the Holy Name of the Saviour
was on his lips, and Mr Harford trusted that she was right, with the
charity that hopeth all things.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

MISSED AND MOURNED.

"Nor deem the irrevocable Past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain."
_Longfellow_.

"Be they Gobblealls not coming home?" asked Nanny Barton, as she stood
at her gate, while some of her neighbours came slowly out of church,
about two years later.

"My man, he did ask Shepherd Tomkins," said Betsy Seddon, "and all the
answer he got was, `You don't desarve it, not you.' As if my man had
gone out with that there rabble rout!"

"And I'm sure mine only went up to see what they were after, and helped
to put out the fire beside."

"Ay," said Cox, behind her, "but not till the soldiers were come."

"Time they did com