"Zounds!" exclaimed the Sergeant, starting. "You're something sudden
mam, death is our common lot----"

"Death that creeps, my dear. Here's ill chances and good. Here's
sorrow and joy. Here's love shall be a light i' the dark. But here's
dangers, perils, night-lurkers and creepers i' the gloom. Death for
you and shame for her."

"Ha--for her!" cried the Sergeant, his big hand clenching on the
feeble, old fingers. "D'ye mean--Mrs. Agatha, mam?"

"No, no, my dear, no no!" answered old Betty, viewing his stern and
anxious face with her quick bright eyes. "'Tis not her you love, no,
no, 'tis one as loveth him ye serve. 'Tis one with a soul as sweet, as
soft and white as her precious body, 'tis one as is my namesake,
'tis----"

"_Sapperment_!" exclaimed the Sergeant. "You never mean my lady Betty,
my lady Carlyon----"

"Aye, aye my dear--'tis she!"

"And in danger, d'ye say? Can ye prove it, mam?"

"Come ye to-morrow t' my cottage at rise o' moon and I'll show ye a
thing, ye shall see, ye shall hear. Bring him along o' you him--ssh!"
The old woman's clutch tightened suddenly, her bowed figure grew more
upright, and she stared wide of eye: "Come," she cried suddenly, in her
shrillest tones, "you as do hearken--come! You in petticoats--aha, I
can see, I can hear! Come forth, I summon ye!"

A moment's utter silence, then leaves rustled and Mrs. Agatha stood in
the doorway, her eyes very bright, her cheeks more rosy than usual.

"Sergeant Tring," she demanded, "what doth the old beldam here?"

Old Betty seemed to cower beneath Mrs. Agatha's look, while the
Sergeant fidgeted, muttered "Zounds" and was thereafter dumb. "'Tis an
arrant scold and wicked witch," continued Mrs. Agatha, "and should to
the brank, or the cucking-stool----"

"No, no!" cried the old woman, shivering and struggling to her feet.
"Not again a God's love, mistress--not again! I'll be gone! Let me
go!"

"Nay, not yet mam," said the Sergeant gently as he rose; "you are
weary, sit ye and rest awhile. Mrs. Agatha mam, you speak
woman-like----"

"Aye, aye," nodded old Betty, "'tis ever woman is cruellest to woman!"

"As you will, Zebedee Tring!" nodded Mrs. Agatha. "Yonder is Roger
Bent shook with a shivering fit at sight of her while you sit here and
let her scrabble your hand, but as you will!" and crossing her arms
over opulent bosom Mrs. Agatha would have turned away but old Betty
stabbed at her with bony finger.

"Woman,