I follows, lovey,
I follow, but I nivir did cotch him up, fur rain and storm comed mos'
dreful.'

'Did you not see him on that night, then?'

'Sight of my eyes, I sawr 'im dead. I 'eard a shot, and I run, and run,
dearie, fur I know'd as 'e 'ad no pistol; but I los' m'way, my royal
rye, and it was ony when th' storm rolled off as I foun' 'im. He was
lyin' in a ditch. Such was his grave,' continued Mother Jael, speaking
in her own tongue, 'water and grass and storm-clouds above, brother. I
was afraid to touch him, afraid to wait, as these Gentiles might think I
had slain the man. I got back into the road, I did, and there I picked
up this, which I brought to the camp with me. But I never showed it to
the police, brother, for I feared the Gentile jails.'

This proved to be a neat little silver-mounted pistol which Mother Jael
fished out from the interior of the mattress. Baltic balanced it in his
hand, and believing, as was surely natural, that Jentham had been killed
with this weapon, he examined it carefully.

'G. P.,' said he, reading the initials graven on the silver shield of
the butt.

'Ah!' chuckled Mother Jael, hugging herself. 'George Pendle that is,
lovey. But which of 'em, my tender dove--the father or the son?'

'Humph!' remarked Baltic, meditatively, 'they are both called George.'

'But they ain't both called murderer, my brother. George Pendle shot
that Bosvile sure enough, an' ef y'arsk me, dearie, it was the son--the
captain--the sodger. Ah, that it was!'

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE RETURN OF GABRIEL

'My dear Daisy, I am sorry you are going away, as it has been a great
pleasure for me to have you in my house. I hope you will visit me again
next year, and then you may be more fortunate.'

Mrs Pansey made this amiable little speech--which nevertheless, like a
scorpion, had a sting in its tail--to Miss Norsham on the platform of
the Beorminster railway station. After a stay of two months, the town
mouse was departing as she had come--a single young woman; and Mrs
Pansey's last word was meant to remind her of failure. Daisy was quick
enough to guess this, but, displeased at the taunt, chose to understand
it in another and more gracious sense, so as to disconcert her spiteful
friend.

'Fortunate! Oh, dear Mrs Pansey, I have been very fortunate this time.
Really, you have been most kind; you have given me everything I wanted.'

'Excepting a husband, my dear,' rejoined the archdeacon's widow,