here—not here, Master Dandy,” she said, hurriedly. “If you would be so kind as step in here, there ain’t likely to be no one in this time o’ the day, Master Dandy.” She indicated, as she spoke, the door of the little parlour near at hand.

“As you will,” replied Crowdy; and he followed her into the room, inwardly wondering what was going to happen.

Inside the room, he seated himself upon a table, and looked questioningly at her. She was evidently at a loss how to proceed, for a few moments, and stood nervously beating her fingers on the back of a chair. When, at last, she broke the silence, her question was a startling one.

“Master Dandy—for the love of God—where’s Patience Miller?”

The man stared at her in amazement. He knew the name in an instant—remembered the interview, in the darkness and the rain, upon the road outside the village—almost felt again, for an instant, the warm pressure of the girl’s lips upon his. He shook his head, in a dazed fashion.

“How on earth should I know?” he asked, slowly.

“How should anybody know better, Master Dandy?” she retorted, in the same suppressed excited voice. “Master Dandy—I’m an old woman, and poor Patience, ’avin’ no mother of ’er own, ’as turned to me—natural-like—these many years. There’s been w’ispers ’ere, an’ w’ispers there, this ever so long; but it was only the other night as I got it all from ’er.” The good woman was quivering with excitement, and her fingers were beating a rapid tattoo on the back of the chair.

“All what?” asked Crowdy, faintly.

“The ’ole story, Master Dandy,” she replied promptly. “Ah—it ain’t no use your tryin’ to deny it, sir; I knows the truth w’en I ’ears it—’specially w’en it comes to me wi’ tears an’ sighs. You’ve led ’er wrong, Master Dandy—you know you ’ave; and now—wot’s become of ’er?”

“I tell you I know nothing about the girl,” replied Crowdy, doggedly.

The old woman threw up her grey head, like a war horse, and looked defiance at him. “Then, Master Dandy,” she said fiercely—“if yer turn me and old Toby out in the road, I’ve got to tell yer a bit o’ my mind. You’re a Chater—and you’ve got the Chater blood in you, I suppose—because I knowed your blessed father and mother, now in their graves. But there it ends; for you’ve got some other black heart in you, that never belonged to them. There’s not 

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