nutes of her time."

"You'm welcome, Mr. Drake," she said.

He started at the surname; but she got up, and they went off just in
the usual way to the parlor; and when they was there, she sat down in
her old corner of the horsehair sofa and looked at him. But he didn't
sit down--not at first. He walked about fierce and talked fierce.

"I'll ax one question afore I go on, and, if the answer's what I fear,
I'll trouble you no more," he said. "In a word, be you tokened again? I
suppose you be, for you're not the sort to go begging. Say it quick if
'tis so, and I'll be off and trouble you no further."

"No, Mr. Drake. I'm free as the day you--you throwed me over," she
answered, in a very quiet little voice.

He snorted at that, but was too mighty thankful to quarrel with the
words. She could see he began to grow terrible excited now; and he
walked up and down, taking shorter and shorter strides this way and
that, like a hungry caged tiger as knows his bit of horse-flesh be on
the way.

At last he bursts out again.

"There was a lot of lies told about that old plate us found at
Dunnabridge. But the truth of the matter is, that I sold it for three
hundred and fifty-four pounds."

"So Tom Parsons told uncle. A wonderful thing; and we sat up all night
talking about it, Mr. Drake."

"For God's sake call me 'Jonathan'!" he cried out; "and tell me--tell me
what the figure of your legacy was. You must tell me--you can't withhold
it. 'Tis life or death--to me."

She'd never seen him so excited, but very well knowed what was in his
mind.

"If you must know, you must," she answered. "I thought I told you
when--when----"

"No, you didn't. I wouldn't bide to hear. Whatever 'twas, you'd got more
than me, and that was all I cared about; but now, if by good fortune
'tis less than mine, you understand----"

"Of course 'tis less. A hundred and eighty pound and the interest--a
little over two hundred in all--is what I've gotten."

"Thank God!" he said.

Then he axed her if she could marry him still, or if she knew too much
about his ways and his ideas to care about doing so.

And she took him again.

* * * * *

You see, Hyssop Burges was my mother, and when father died I had the
rights of the story from her. By that time the old people at White Works
and Tom Parsons was all gone home, and the secret remained safe enough
with Hyssop herself.

The great difficulty was to put half her money