d Varden, pointing to the body.

"Steel, steel, steel!" Barnaby replied fiercely, imitating the thrust of
a sword.

"Is he robbed?" said the blacksmith.

Barnaby caught him by the arm, and nodded "Yes," pointing towards the
city.

"Oh!" said the old man. "The robber made off that way, did he? Now let's
see what can be done."

They covered the wounded man with Varden's greatcoat, and carried him to
Mrs. Rudge's house hard by. On his way home Gabriel congratulated
himself on having an adventure which would silence Mrs. Varden on the
subject of the Maypole for that night, or there was no faith in woman.

But Mrs. Varden was a lady of uncertain temper, and she was on this
occasion so ill-tempered, and put herself to so much anxiety and
agitation, aided and abetted by her shrewish hand-maiden, Miggs, that
next morning she was, she said, too much indisposed to rise. The
disconsolate locksmith had, therefore, to deliver himself of his story
of the night's experiences to his daughter, buxom, bewitching Dolly, the
very pink and pattern of good looks, and the despair of the youth of the
neighbourhood.

Calling next day in the evening, Gabriel Varden learnt the wounded man
was better, and would shortly be removed.

Varden chatted as an old friend with Barnaby's mother. He knew the
Maypole story of the widow Rudge--how her husband, employed at Chigwell,
and his master had been murdered; and how her son, born upon the very
day the deed was known, bore upon his wrist a smear of blood but half
washed out.

"Why, what's that?" said the locksmith suddenly. "Is that Barnaby
tapping at the door?"

"No," returned the widow; "it was in the street, I think. Hark! 'Tis
someone knocking softly at the shutter."

"Some thief or ruffian," said the locksmith. "Give me a light."

"No, no," she returned hastily. "I would rather go myself, alone."

She left the room, and Varden heard the sound of whispers without. Then
the words "My God!" came, tittered in a voice dreadful to hear.

Varden rushed out. A look of terror was on the woman's face, and before
her stood a man, of sinister appearance, whom the locksmith had passed
on the road from Chigwell the previous night.

The man fled, but the locksmith was after him and would have held him
but for the widow, who clutched his arms.

"The other way--the other way!" she cried. "Do not touch him, on your
life! He carries other lives besides his own. Don't ask what it means.
He is not t