water
beside her with a violent gesture.

'Go where yer wants,' she said, and returned to her washing.

Saunders began to climb the narrow stairs, with John behind him. But the
smith's small eyes had a puzzled look.

'There's _somethin_ rum,' he said to himself. 'Ow _did_ she spend it
all? 'As she been carryin on with someone be'ind Isaac's back, or is
Isaac in it too? It's one or t'other.'

Meanwhile Bessie, left behind, was consumed by a passionate effort of
memory. _What_ had she done with the key, the night before, after she
had locked the cupboard? Her brain was blurred. The blow--the fall--
seemed to have confused even the remembrance of the scene with Timothy.
How was it, for instance, that she had put the box back in the wrong
place? She put her hand to her head, trying in an anguish to recollect
the exact details.

The little widow sat meanwhile a few yards away, her thin hands clasped
on her lap in her usual attitude of humble entreaty; her soft grey eyes,
brimmed with tears, were fixed on Bessie. Bessie did not know that she
was there--that she existed.

The door had closed after the two men. Bessie could hear vague
movements, but nothing more. Presently she could bear it no longer. She
went to the door and opened it.

She was just in time. By the light of the bit of candle that John held,
she saw Saunders sitting on the stair, the shadow of his huge frame
thrown back on the white wall; she saw him stoop suddenly, as a bird
pounces; she heard an exclamation--then a sound of metal.

Her involuntary cry startled the men above.

'All right, Mrs. Costrell,' said Saunders, briskly--'all right. We'll be
down directly.'

She came back into the kitchen, a mist before her eyes, and fell heavily
on a chair by the fire. Mary Anne approached her, only to be pushed
back. The widow stood listening, in an agony.

It took Saunders a minute or two to complete his case. Then he slowly
descended the stairs, carrying the box, his great weight making the
house shake. He entered the kitchen first, John behind him. But at the
same moment that they appeared, the outer door opened, and Isaac
Costrell, preceded by a gust of snow, stood on the threshold.

'Why, John!' he cried, in amazement--'an _Saunders_!'

He looked at them, then at Mary Anne, then at his wife.

There was an instant's dead silence.

Then the tottering John came forward.

'An I'm glad yer come, Isaac, that I am--thankful! Now yer can tell me
what