her companion hoarsely.

“What cottage?” she asked, surprised.

“Not better than a dog kennel!—but good enough for the gentleman from London—him what they call a hanalist—’e who’s the cause of many a ’anging,” whispered the man.

And then Jean remembered that on the other side of the churchyard wall, standing in a field, was a kind of shanty which she knew had been condemned, largely owing to her uncle’s efforts, as unfit for human habitation some months ago.

She forced herself to ask what was to her an all-important question.

“Is it there that they’ll find out what Mrs. Garlett died from?”

“Lord, no!” he exclaimed, astonished at such ignorance, “that’s a long business—that’s done in London.”

“Then what will they do there?” she asked, puzzled and disappointed, and with no prevision of his answer.

“Well, missie, what’ll be done in that cottage over there won’t be a pleasant job. I’m glad I’m not in it.”

99“What are they going to do?” she breathed.

99

“They’ll take parts of the lady’s inside and put them into jars. Then the poor soul will rest once more in her coffin. Meanwhile, that which ’as been removed (if you take my meaning) will be taken away to London, and it’s according to the report of the gentleman I pointed out to you just now whether the ’usband will get off scot-free or whether he’ll swing.”

He uttered the dreadful words in a matter-of-fact tone, and Jean turned suddenly sick and faint.

“Will you help me back to the gate?” she muttered. “I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

“Not just a few minutes more?” he asked, disappointed. “If you goes now, you’ll miss the most hinteresting part of the whole affair. They’re just going to unscrew the coffin, and take her out, and it isn’t as if we was near enough to see anything that ’ud frighten you——”

But, already, Jean had turned and was blindly making her way back, among the gravestones, toward the lych-gate.

She was bitterly, bitterly sorry now that she had come. She felt that as long as 

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