iting serial in the _Millsborough Herald_."

"'Tis the _Courier_ has the best," interrupted the woman eagerly.

"Mine will knock spots off the _Courier_--if we have time for it," said
Dick, in the tone of dark suggestion.

"Bring her in," said the woman, curiosity prevailing. "I'll do my best
for you both;" and Dick, rising with care not to disturb his now
sleeping burden, carried it into the cottage.

The little house consisted of a large kitchen and two bedrooms opening
from it. The woman, now almost hospitable, opened one of the inner
doors.

"My son Tom's room," she said, with some pride. "He's away to
Millsborough. Better put the lady in here. 'Tis a better bed than mine,
and all clean and tidy for him against he comes on Monday."

She sighed heavily over some thought of her son, and watched her strange
guest lay his strange load on the bed.

The idea that under this ill-fitting, already draggled skirt, and loose,
ridiculous man's jacket were concealed the fine skin and well-tended
person of a lady, filled her with expectation of romance. If the
_Millsborough Herald_ had taught her to despise the "low moral tone" of
those who ride in carriages and know not hardship, the _Penny Pansy_, in
its own inimitable manner, had compelled her to believe that they
possessed a distinction which she could not define.

They were "dainty" in appearance, "delicate" in thought, and "very pale"
in love or tragic circumstances.

But this one--if lady indeed she were--was pale with exhaustion, perhaps
hunger, as any woman might be; and yet through it all there shone dimly
something which reminded her of the romance she had drunk from the
shallow and sluggish channel of machine-made fiction.

If this were a heroine, then the queer, persuasive man, bloody and
blue-eyed, was the hero--and his kind she knew neither in _Penny
Pansy's_ country nor her own.

"Half a dozen eggs, please, laid to-day. I give half a crown apiece for
eggs, if I like 'em," said Dick. "Got any brandy, whisky, or gin? And
what's your name?"

"Brundage, sir."

"And the name of this place?"

"Monkswood Cottage, near Margetstowe."

"Well, then, Mrs. Brundage--about that brandy?"

"There _is_ a drop of rum--for medicine, so to say," admitted Mrs.
Brundage, with a cold simper.

"Good medicine too," he said. "Lady Adelina will take some in the eggs
I'm going to beat up for her. For me, get bacon and eggs, tea, and bags
of bread and butter. See, she's