r
husband's letter," said she, "telling of her death."

"Yes, you would have his letters."

"There was but two." Her intense truthfulness could not let that plural
pass. "He was a strange man--and a bad one, doctor, if ye want to
know--and he never wrote to me again, not after answering my letter I
wrote to tell him of my father's death. But I've a long letter from him,
saying how Maisie died, and her message to me, giving me--like you might
say--her girl for my own. That is my Ruth, you know, at Strides Cottage,
this little man's own granny. But I've never heard his name since ...
not till ... not till ..."

"What's the matter? Anything wrong?" For Granny Marrable had stopped
with a jerk, and her look was one of the greatest bewilderment. The
memory of the name the madman who said he was Mrs. Prichard's son had
given her as his own had come upon her with a sudden shock,
having--strangely enough--been dormant throughout this interview. She
was confronted with a host of perplexities, which--mark you!--had no
possible solution except the one her mind could not receive, and which
therefore never presented itself at all.

"Indeed, doctor, I think I be bewitched outright," said she. "I never
was so put to it, all the days of my life.... No, don't ye ask me no
questions! I haven't the liberty to tell above half of it, and maybe
better say nothing at all."

"I see--matter of confidence! Well--I mustn't ask questions." This was
really because he was certain the answer would come without asking.
Granny Marrable would never let the matter drop, with that look on her
face.

So it turned out. In a moment she looked up from the baby, whom she had
been redistributing, to his advantage. "I'll tell ye this much, doctor,"
she said. "There was a crazy man in yonder field near by, when I was
coming back from Jane Naunton's--just a few days since...."

"I've heard of him."

"What do they say of him?"

"I only heard the police were after him. Go on."

"Well--the name he called himself by was my sister's husband's, and he
said he came from Australia."

"That might be, and no witchcraft. When did your sister die?"

"Five-and-forty--six-and-forty--years ago!"

"Any children left? Boys?"

"Boys?--Lord, no! At least, yes--two boys! What I mean is, not by this
name."

"What were the boys' names?"

"One, I call to mind, was Isaac. For Maisie wrote me what work she had
to persuade her husband to the name...." She had meant to