louse, were raw and bleeding. For a short time Michel
Tellier bent over him, noting these things with glistening eyes. Then
the peasant stole out again. "It is five crowns!" he muttered, blinking
in the sunlight. "Ha, ha! Five crowns!"

He looked round him cautiously, but could see no sign of his wife; and
after hesitating and pondering a minute or two, he took the path for
Carhaix, his native astuteness leading him to saunter at a slow pace
after his ordinary fashion. When he was gone the moorland about the
cottage lay still and deserted. Thrice, at intervals, the girl dragged
home her load of straw, but on each occasion she seemed to linger in the
barn no longer than was necessary. Michel's absence, though it was
unlooked-for, raised no suspicion in her breast, for he would frequently
go down to the village to spend the afternoon. The sun sank lower, and
the shadow of the great monolith, which, on the crest of the highest
point of the moor, at a distance of a mile, rose gaunt and black against
a roseate sky, grew longer and longer; and then, as twilight fell, the
two coming home met a few paces from the cottage. He asked some
questions about the work she had been doing, and she answered briefly.
Then, silent and uncommunicative, they went in together. The girl set
the bread and cider on the table, and going to the great black pot which
had been simmering all day upon the fire, poured some broth into two
pitchers. It did not escape Michel's frugal eye that she was careful to
leave a little broth in the bottom of the pot; and the fact induced a
new feeling in him--anger. When his wife invited him by a sign to the
meal, he went instead to the door, and fastened it. Then he moved to the
corner and picked up the wood-chopper, and armed with this he came back
to his seat.

The girl watched his movements first with surprise, then with secret
terror. The twilight was come, the cottage was almost dark, and she was
alone with him; or, if not alone, yet with no one near who could help
her. Nevertheless she met his grin of triumph bravely. "What is this?"
she said. "Why do you want that?"

"For the rat," he answered grimly, his eyes on hers.

Her heart sank. "The rat?" she echoed.

"Ay!"

"Why not--your stool?" she strove to murmur.

"Not for this rat," he answered cunningly. "It might not do, my girl.
Oh, I know what is to do," he continued, fingering the edge of the axe.
"I have been down to the village, and seen the ma