e inquest--if I didn't, I
tell you so now. I'll give it to him! Come along with me."

And he went out, striding on with his cocked hat and his great cane, and
I followed him.

"Landlord!" he cries, the moment he gets into the passage, with a thump
of his cane on the floor, "landlord!" with a look all round him as if he
was King of England calling to a beast, "come out!"

The moment the landlord came out and saw who it was, his eye fixed on
the cocked hat, and he turned as pale as ashes.

"How dare you frighten this poor girl?" says the beadle. "How dare you
bully her at this sorrowful time with threatening to do what you know
you can't do? How dare you be a cowardly, bullying, braggadocio of an
unmanly landlord? Don't talk to me: I won't hear you. I'll pull you up,
sir. If you say another word to the young woman, I'll pull you up before
the authorities of this metropolitan parish. I've had my eye on you, and
the authorities have had their eye on you, and the rector has had his
eye on you. We don't like the look of your small shop round the corner;
we don't like the look of some of the customers who deal at it; we don't
like disorderly characters; and we don't by any manner of means like
you. Go away. Leave the young woman alone. Hold your tongue, or I'll
pull you up. If he says another word, or interferes with you again,
my dear, come and tell me; and, as sure as he's a bullying, unmanly,
braggadocio of a landlord, I'll pull him up."

With those words the beadle gave a loud cough to clear his throat, and
another thump of his cane on the floor, and so went striding out again
before I could open my lips to thank him. The landlord slunk back into
his room without a word. I was left alone and unmolested at last,
to strengthen myself for the hard trial of my poor love's funeral
to-morrow.

March 13th. It is all over. A week ago her head rested on my bosom.
It is laid in the churchyard now; the fresh earth lies heavy over her
grave. I and my dearest friend, the sister of my love, are parted in
this world forever.

I followed her funeral alone through the cruel, hustling streets. Sally,
I thought, might have offered to go with me, but she never so much as
came into my room. I did not like to think badly of her for this, and I
am glad I restrained myself; for, when we got into the churchyard, among
the two or three people who were standing by the open grave I saw Sally,
in her ragged gray shawl and her patched black b