ain, the memory of the half-crowns, and the village talk--and
Watson--would close upon her, putting her in a cold sweat.

When would Isaac come? Who would tell him? As she looked forward to
the effect upon him, all her muscles stiffened. If he drove her to it,
aye, she _would_ tell him--she didn't care a ha'porth, she vowed. If
he must have it, let him. But as the name of Isaac, the thought of
Isaac, hovered in her brain, she must needs brush away wild tears.
That morning, for the first time for months, he had been so kind to her
and the children, so chatty and cheerful.

Distant steps along the lane! She sprang to her feet, ran into the
back kitchen, tied on her apron, hastily filled an earthenware bowl
with water from the pump, and, carrying it back to the front kitchen,
began to wash up the tea-things, making a busy household clatter as she
slid them into the bowl.

A confused sound of feet approached the house, and there was a knock.

"Come in," said Bessie.

Three figures appeared, the huge form of Saunders the smith in front,
John and Mary Anne Waller behind.

Saunders took off his cap politely. The sight of his bald head, his
double chin, his mouth with its queer twitch, which made him seem as
though perpetually about to laugh, if he had not perpetually thought
better of it, filled Bessie with angry excitement. She barely nodded
to him, in reply to his greeting.

"May we come in, Mrs. Costrell?" Saunders inquired, in his most
deliberate voice.

"If yer want to," said Bessie, shortly, taking out a cup and drying it.

Saunders drew in the other two and shut the door.

"Sit down, John. Sit down, Mrs. Waller."

John did as he was told. Dishevelled and hopeless misery spoke in his
stained face, his straggling hair, his shirt burst open at the neck and
showing his wrinkled throat. But he fixed his eyes passionately on
Saunders, thirsting for every word.

"Well, Mrs. Costrell," said Saunders, settling himself comfortably,
"you'll be free to confess, won't yer, this is an oogly business--a
very oogly business? Now, will yer let us ask yer a question or two?"

"I dessay," said Bessie, polishing her cup.

"Well, then--to begin reg'lar, Mrs. Costrell--yo' agree, don't yer, as
Muster Bolderfield put his money in your upstairs cupboard?"

"I agree as he put his box there"--said Bessie, sharply.

John broke into inarticulate and abusive clamour. Bessie turned upon
him.

"'Ow did any of us know