THE
STORY
OF
BESSIE
COSTRELL
BY
MRS.
HUMPHRY
WARD
AUTHOR
OF
“
ROBERT
ELSMERE
,
”
“
THE
HISTORY
OF
DAVID
GRIEVE
,
”
“
MARCELLA
,
”
ETC.
LONDON
:
SMITH
,
ELDER
+
CO.
,
15
,
WATERLOO
PLACE
.
1895.
(
All
rights
reserved
.
)
THE
STORY
OF
BESSIE
COSTRELL
SCENE
I
IT
was
an
August
evening
,
still
and
cloudy
after
a
day
unusually
chilly
for
the
time
of
year
.
Now
,
about
sunset
,
the
temperature
was
warmer
than
it
had
been
in
the
morning
,
and
the
departing
sun
was
forcing
its
way
through
the
clouds
,
breaking
up
their
level
masses
into
delicate
latticework
of
golds
and
greys
.
The
last
radiant
light
was
on
the
wheat-fields
under
the
hill
,
and
on
the
long
chalk
hill
itself
.
Against
that
glowing
background
lay
the
village
,
already
engulfed
by
the
advancing
shadow
.
All
the
nearer
trees
,
which
the
daylight
had
mingled
in
one
green
monotony
,
stood
out
sharp
and
distinct
,
each
in
its
own
plane
,
against
the
hill
.
Each
natural
object
seemed
to
gain
a
new
accent
,
a
more
individual
beauty
,
from
the
vanishing
and
yet
lingering
sunlight
.
An
elderly
labourer
was
walking
along
the
road
which
led
to
the
village
.
To
his
right
lay
the
allotment
gardens
just
beginning
to
be
alive
with
figures
,
and
the
voices
of
men
and
children
.
Beyond
them
,
far
ahead
,
rose
the
square
tower
of
the
church
;
to
his
left
was
the
hill
,
and
straight
in
front
of
him
the
village
,
with
its
veils
of
smoke
lightly
brushed
over
the
trees
,
and
its
lines
of
cottages
climbing
the
chalk
steeps
behind
it
.
His
eye
as
he
walked
took
in
a
number
of
such
facts
as
life
had
trained
it
to
notice
.
Once
he
stopped
to
bend
over
a
fence
,
to
pluck
a
stalk
or
two
of
oats
.
He
examined
them
carefully
;
then
he
threw
back
his
head
and
sniffed
the
air
,
looking
all
round
the
sky
meanwhile
.
Yes
,
the
season
had
been
late
and
harsh
,
but
the
fine
weather
was
coming
at
last
.
Two
or
three
days
'
warmth
now
would
ripen
even
the
oats
,
let
alone
the
wheat
.
Well
,
he
was
glad
.
He
wanted
the
harvest
over
.
It
would
,
perhaps
,
be
his
last
harvest
at
Clinton
Magna
,
where
he
had
worked
,
man
and
boy
,
for
fifty-six
years
come
Michaelmas
.
His
last
harvest
!
A
curious
pleasure
stirred
the
man
's
veins
as
he
thought
of
it
,
a
pleasure
in
expected
change
,
which
seemed
to
bring
back
the
pulse
of
youth
,
to
loosen
a
little
the
yoke
of
those
iron
years
that
had
perforce
aged
and
bent
him
;
though
,
for
sixty-two
,
he
was
still
hale
and
strong
.
Things
had
all
come
together
.
Here
was
“
Muster
”
Hill
,
the
farmer
he
had
worked
for
these
seventeen
years
,
dying
of
a
sudden
,
with
a
carbuncle
on
the
neck
,
and
the
farm
to
be
given
up
at
Michaelmas
.
He
—
John
Bolderfield
—
had
been
working
on
for
the
widow
;
but
,
in
his
opinion
,
she
was
“
nobbut
a
caselty
sort
of
body
,
”
and
the
sooner
she
and
her
children
were
taken
off
to
Barnet
,
where
they
were
to
live
with
her
mother
,
the
less
she
'd
cost
them
as
had
the
looking
after
her
.
As
for
the
crops
,
they
would
n't
pay
the
debts
;
not
they
.
And
there
was
no
one
after
the
farm
—
“
nary
one
”
—
and
did
n't
seem
like
to
be
.
That
would
make
another
farm
on
Muster
Forrest
's
hands
.
Well
,
and
a
good
job
.
Landlords
must
be
“
took
down
;
”
and
there
was
plenty
of
work
going
on
the
railway
just
now
for
those
that
were
turned
off
.
He
was
too
old
for
the
railway
,
though
,
and
he
might
have
found
it
hard
to
get
fresh
work
if
he
had
been
staying
at
Clinton
.
But
he
was
not
staying
.
Poor
Eliza
would
n't
last
more
than
a
few
days
;
a
week
or
two
at
most
,
and
he
was
not
going
to
keep
on
the
cottage
after
he
'd
buried
her
.
Aye
,
poor
Eliza
!
She
was
his
sister-in-law
,
the
widow
of
his
second
brother
.
He
had
been
his
brother
's
lodger
during
the
greater
part
of
his
working
life
,
and
since
Tom
's
death
he
had
stayed
on
with
Eliza
.
She
and
he
suited
each
other
,
and
the
“
worritin
'
childer
”
had
all
gone
away
years
since
and
left
them
in
peace
.
He
did
n't
believe
Eliza
knew
where
any
of
them
were
,
except
Mary
,
“
married
over
to
Luton
”
—
and
Jim
,
and
Jim
's
Louisa
.
And
a
good
riddance
too
.
There
was
not
one
of
them
knew
how
to
keep
a
shilling
when
they
'd
got
one
.
Still
,
it
was
a
bit
lonesome
for
Eliza
now
,
with
no
one
but
Jim
's
Louisa
to
look
after
her
.
He
grew
rather
downhearted
as
he
trudged
along
,
thinking
.
She
and
he
had
stuck
together
“
a
many
year
.
”
There
would
be
nobody
left
for
him
to
go
along
with
when
she
was
gone
.
There
was
his
niece
Bessie
Costrell
and
her
husband
,
and
there
was
his
silly
old
cousin
Widow
Waller
.
He
dared
say
they
'd
both
of
them
want
him
to
live
with
them
.
At
the
thought
a
grin
crossed
his
ruddy
face
.
They
both
knew
about
it
—
that
was
what
it
was
.
And
he
would
n't
live
with
either
of
them
,
not
he
.
Not
yet
a
bit
,
anyway
.
All
the
same
,
he
had
a
fondness
for
Bessie
and
her
husband
.
Bessie
was
always
very
civil
to
him
—
he
chuckled
again
—
and
if
anything
had
to
be
done
with
it
,
while
he
was
five
miles
off
at
Frampton
on
a
job
of
work
that
had
been
offered
him
,
he
did
n't
know
but
he
'd
as
soon
trust
Isaac
Costrell
and
Bessie
as
anybody
else
.
You
might
call
Isaac
rather
a
fool
,
what
with
his
religion
,
and
“
extemp'ry
prayin
'
,
an
'
that
,
”
but
all
the
same
Bolderfield
thought
of
him
with
a
kind
of
uneasy
awe
.
If
ever
there
was
a
man
secure
of
the
next
world
it
was
Isaac
Costrell
.
His
temper
,
perhaps
,
was
“
nassty
,
”
which
might
pull
him
down
a
little
when
the
last
account
came
to
be
made
up
;
and
it
could
not
be
said
that
his
elder
children
had
come
to
much
,
for
all
his
piety
.
But
,
on
the
whole
,
Bolderfield
only
wished
he
stood
as
well
with
the
powers
talked
about
in
chapel
every
Sunday
as
Isaac
did
.
As
for
Bessie
,
she
had
been
a
wasteful
woman
all
her
life
,
with
never
a
bit
of
money
put
by
,
and
never
a
good
dress
to
her
back
.
But
,
“
Lor
bless
yer
,
there
was
a
many
worse
folk
nor
Bessie
.
”
She
was
n't
one
of
your
sour
people
—
she
could
make
you
laugh
;
she
had
a
merry
heart
.
Many
a
pleasant
evening
had
he
passed
chatting
with
her
and
Isaac
;
and
whenever
they
cooked
anything
good
there
was
always
a
bite
for
him
.
Yes
,
Bessie
had
been
a
good
niece
to
him
;
and
if
he
trusted
any
one
he
dared
say
he
'd
trust
them
.
“
Well
,
how
's
Eliza
,
Muster
Bolderfield
?
”
said
a
woman
who
passed
him
in
the
village
street
.
He
replied
,
and
then
went
his
way
,
sobered
again
,
dreading
to
find
himself
at
the
cottage
once
more
,
and
in
the
stuffy
upper
room
with
the
bed
and
the
dying
woman
.
Yet
he
was
not
really
sad
,
not
here
at
least
,
out
in
the
air
and
the
sun
.
There
was
always
a
thought
in
his
mind
,
a
fact
in
his
consciousness
,
which
stood
between
him
and
sadness
.
It
had
so
stood
for
a
long
,
long
time
.
He
walked
through
the
village
to-night
in
spite
of
Eliza
and
his
sixty
years
with
a
free
bearing
and
a
confident
glance
to
right
and
left
.
He
knew
,
and
the
village
knew
,
that
he
was
not
as
other
men
.
He
passed
the
village
green
with
its
pond
,
and
began
to
climb
a
lane
leading
to
the
hill
.
Half-way
up
stood
two
cottages
sideways
.
Phloxes
and
marigolds
grew
untidily
about
their
doorways
,
and
straggly
roses
,
starved
a
little
by
the
chalk
soil
,
looked
in
at
their
latticed
windows
.
They
were
,
however
,
comparatively
modern
and
comfortable
,
with
two
bedrooms
above
and
two
living-rooms
below
,
far
superior
to
the
older
and
more
picturesque
cottages
in
the
main
street
.
John
went
in
softly
,
put
down
his
straw
dinner-bag
,
and
took
off
his
heavy
boots
.
Then
he
opened
a
door
in
the
wall
of
the
kitchen
,
and
gently
climbed
the
stairs
.
A
girl
was
sitting
by
the
bed
.
When
she
saw
his
whitish
head
and
red
face
emerge
against
the
darkness
of
the
stair-hole
,
she
put
up
her
finger
for
silence
.
John
crept
in
and
came
to
look
at
the
patient
.
His
eyes
grew
round
and
staring
,
his
colour
changed
.
“
Is
she
a-goin
'
?
”
he
said
,
with
evident
excitement
.
Jim
's
Louisa
shook
her
head
.
She
was
rather
a
stupid
girl
,
heavy
and
round-faced
,
but
she
had
nursed
her
grandmother
well
.
“
No
;
she
's
asleep
.
Muster
Drew
's
been
here
,
and
she
dropped
off
while
he
was
a-talkin
'
to
her
.
”
Mr.
Drew
was
the
Congregational
minister
.
“
Did
she
send
for
him
?
”
“
Yes
;
she
said
she
felt
her
feet
a-gettin
'
cold
,
and
I
must
run
.
But
I
do
n't
believe
she
's
no
worse
.
”
John
stood
looking
down
,
ruefully
.
Suddenly
the
figure
in
the
bed
turned
.
“
John
,
”
said
a
comparatively
strong
voice
which
made
Bolderfield
start
—
“
John
,
Muster
Drew
says
you
'd
oughter
put
it
in
the
bank
.
You
'll
be
a
fool
if
yer
do
n't
,
'
ee
says
.
”
The
old
woman
's
pinched
face
emerged
from
the
sheets
,
looking
up
at
him
.
Bluish
patches
showed
here
and
there
on
the
drawn
white
skin
;
there
was
a
great
change
since
the
morning
,
but
the
eyes
were
still
alive
.
John
was
silent
a
moment
,
one
corner
of
his
mouth
twitching
,
as
though
what
she
had
said
struck
him
in
a
humorous
light
.
“
Well
,
I
do
n't
know
as
I
mind
much
what
'
ee
says
,
'
Liza
.
”
“
Sit
down
.
”
She
made
a
movement
with
her
emaciated
hand
.
John
sat
down
on
the
chair
Louisa
gave
up
to
him
,
and
bent
down
over
the
bed
.
“
If
yer
woa
n't
do
—
what
Muster
Drew
says
,
John
—
whatever
wull
yer
do
with
it
?
”
She
spoke
slowly
,
but
clearly
.
John
scratched
his
head
.
His
complexion
had
evidently
been
very
fair
.
It
was
still
fresh
and
pink
,
and
the
full
cheek
hung
a
little
over
the
jaw
.
The
mouth
was
shrewd
,
but
its
expression
was
oddly
contradicted
by
the
eyes
,
which
had
on
the
whole
a
childish
,
weak
look
.
“
I
think
yer
must
leave
it
to
me
,
'
Liza
,
”
he
said
at
last
.
“
I
'll
do
all
for
the
best
.
”
“
No
—
yer
'll
not
,
John
,
”
said
the
dying
voice
.
“
You
'd
a
done
a
many
stupid
things
—
if
I
'
ad
n't
stopped
yer
.
An
'
I
'm
a-goin
'
.
You
'll
never
leave
it
wi
'
Bessie
?
”
“
An
'
who
'
ud
yer
'
ave
me
leave
it
with
?
Ai
n't
Bessie
my
own
sister
's
child
?
”
An
emaciated
hand
stole
out
of
the
bed-clothes
and
fastened
feebly
on
his
arm
.
“
If
yer
do
,
John
,
yer
'll
repent
it
.
Yer
never
were
a
good
one
at
judgin
'
folk
.
Yer
doa
n't
consider
nothin
'
—
an
'
I
'm
a-goin
'
.
Leave
it
with
Saunders
,
John
.
”
There
was
a
pause
.
Then
John
said
with
an
obstinate
look
—
“
Saunders
'
as
never
been
a
friend
o
'
mine
,
since
'
ee
did
me
out
o
'
that
bit
o
'
business
with
Missus
Moulsey
.
An
'
I
do
n't
mean
to
go
makin
'
friends
with
him
again
.
”
Eliza
withdrew
her
hand
with
a
long
sigh
,
and
her
eyelids
closed
.
A
fit
of
coughing
shook
her
;
she
had
to
be
lifted
in
bed
,
and
it
left
her
gasping
and
deathly
.
John
was
sorely
troubled
,
and
not
only
for
himself
.
When
she
was
more
at
ease
again
,
he
stooped
to
her
and
put
his
mouth
to
her
ear
.
“
'
Liza
,
do
n't
yer
think
no
more
about
it
.
Did
Mr.
Drew
read
to
yer
?
Are
yer
comfortable
in
yer
mind
?
”
She
made
a
sign
of
assent
,
which
showed
,
however
,
no
great
interest
in
the
subject
.
There
was
silence
for
a
long
time
.
Louisa
was
getting
supper
downstairs
.
John
,
oppressed
by
the
heat
of
the
room
and
tired
by
his
day
's
work
,
had
almost
fallen
asleep
in
his
chair
,
when
the
old
woman
spoke
again
.
“
John
—
what
'
ud
you
think
o
'
Mary
Anne
Waller
?
”
The
whisper
was
still
human
and
eager
.
John
roused
himself
,
and
could
not
help
an
astonished
laugh
.
“
Why
,
whatever
put
Mary
Anne
into
your
head
,
'
Liza
?
Yer
never
thought
anythink
o
'
Mary
Anne
—
no
more
than
me
.
”
Eliza
's
eyes
wandered
round
the
room
.
“
P'raps
—
”
she
said
,
then
stopped
,
and
could
say
no
more
.
She
seemed
to
become
unconscious
,
and
John
went
to
call
for
Louisa
.
In
the
middle
of
the
night
John
woke
with
a
start
,
and
sat
up
to
listen
.
Not
a
sound
—
but
they
would
have
called
him
if
the
end
had
come
.
He
could
not
rest
,
however
,
and
presently
he
huddled
on
some
clothes
and
went
to
listen
at
Eliza
's
door
.
It
was
ajar
,
and
hearing
nothing
he
pushed
it
open
.
Poor
Eliza
lay
in
her
agony
,
unconscious
,
and
breathing
heavily
.
Beside
her
sat
the
widow
,
Mary
Anne
Waller
,
and
Louisa
,
motionless
too
,
their
heads
bent
.
There
was
an
end
of
candle
in
a
basin
behind
the
bed
,
which
threw
circles
of
wavering
light
over
the
coarse
whitewash
of
the
roof
and
on
the
cards
and
faded
photographs
above
the
tiny
mantelpiece
.
John
crept
up
to
the
bed
.
The
two
women
made
a
slight
movement
to
let
him
stand
between
them
.
“
Ca
n't
yer
give
her
no
brandy
?
”
he
asked
,
whispering
.
Mary
Anne
Waller
shook
her
head
.
“
Dr.
Murch
said
we
wer'
n't
to
trouble
her
.
She
'll
go
when
the
light
comes
—
most
like
.
”
She
was
a
little
shrivelled
woman
with
a
singularly
delicate
mouth
,
that
quivered
as
she
spoke
.
John
and
Eliza
Bolderfield
had
never
thought
much
of
her
,
though
she
was
John
's
cousin
.
She
was
a
widow
,
and
greatly
“
put
upon
”
both
by
her
children
and
her
neighbours
.
Her
children
were
grown
up
,
and
settled
—
more
or
less
—
in
the
world
,
but
they
still
lived
on
her
freely
whenever
it
suited
them
;
and
in
the
village
generally
she
was
reckoned
but
a
poor
creature
.
However
,
when
Eliza
—
originally
a
hard
,
strong
woman
—
took
to
her
bed
with
incurable
disease
,
Mary
Anne
Waller
came
in
to
help
,
and
was
accepted
.
She
did
everything
humbly
;
she
even
let
Louisa
order
her
about
.
But
before
the
end
,
Eliza
had
come
to
be
restless
when
she
was
not
there
.
Now
,
however
,
Eliza
knew
no
more
,
and
the
little
widow
sat
gazing
at
her
with
the
tears
on
her
cheeks
.
John
,
too
,
felt
his
eyes
wet
.
But
after
half
an
hour
,
when
there
was
still
no
change
,
he
was
turning
away
to
go
back
to
bed
,
when
the
widow
touched
his
arm
.
“
Wo
n't
yer
give
her
a
kiss
,
John
?
”
she
said
timidly
.
“
She
wor
a
good
sister
to
you
.
”
John
,
with
a
tremor
,
stooped
,
and
clumsily
did
as
he
was
told
—
the
first
time
in
his
life
he
had
ever
done
so
for
Mary
Anne
.
Then
,
stepping
as
noiselessly
as
he
could
on
his
bare
feet
,
he
hurried
away
.
A
man
shares
nothing
of
that
yearning
attraction
which
draws
women
to
a
death-bed
as
such
.
Instead
,
John
felt
a
sudden
sickness
at
his
heart
.
He
was
thankful
to
find
himself
in
his
own
room
again
,
and
thought
with
dread
of
having
to
go
back
—
for
the
end
.
In
spite
of
his
still
vigorous
and
stalwart
body
,
he
was
often
plagued
with
nervous
fears
and
fancies
.
And
it
was
years
now
since
he
had
seen
death
—
he
had
,
indeed
,
carefully
avoided
seeing
it
.
Gradually
,
however
,
as
he
sat
on
the
edge
of
his
bed
in
the
summer
dark
,
the
new
impression
died
away
,
and
something
habitual
took
its
place
—
that
shielding
,
solacing
thought
,
which
was
in
truth
all
the
world
to
him
,
and
was
going
to
make
up
to
him
for
Eliza
's
death
,
for
getting
old
,
and
the
lonesomeness
of
a
man
without
chick
or
child
.
He
would
have
felt
unutterably
forlorn
and
miserable
,
he
would
have
shrunk
trembling
from
the
shapes
of
death
and
pain
that
seemed
to
fill
the
darkness
,
but
for
this
fact
,
this
defence
,
this
treasure
,
that
set
him
apart
from
his
fellows
and
gave
him
this
proud
sense
of
superiority
,
of
a
good
time
coming
in
spite
of
all
.
Instinctively
,
as
he
sat
on
the
bed
,
he
pushed
his
bare
foot
backwards
till
his
heel
touched
a
wooden
object
that
stood
underneath
.
The
contact
cheered
him
at
once
.
He
ceased
to
think
about
Eliza
,
his
head
was
once
more
full
of
whirling
plans
and
schemes
.
The
wooden
object
was
a
box
that
held
his
money
,
the
savings
of
a
labourer
's
lifetime
.
Seventy-one
pounds
!
It
seemed
to
him
an
ocean
of
gold
,
never
to
be
exhausted
.
The
long
toil
of
saving
it
was
almost
done
.
After
the
Frampton
job
,
he
would
begin
enjoying
it
,
cautiously
at
first
,
taking
a
bit
of
work
now
and
again
,
and
then
a
bit
of
holiday
.
All
the
savour
of
life
was
connected
for
him
with
that
box
.
His
mind
ran
over
the
constant
excitements
of
the
many
small
loans
he
had
made
from
it
to
his
relations
and
friends
.
A
shilling
in
the
pound
interest
—
he
had
never
taken
less
and
he
had
never
asked
more
.
He
had
only
lent
to
people
he
knew
well
,
people
in
the
village
whom
he
could
look
after
,
and
seldom
for
a
term
longer
than
three
months
,
for
to
be
parted
from
his
money
at
all
gave
him
physical
pain
.
He
had
once
suffered
great
anxiety
over
a
loan
to
his
eldest
brother
of
thirty
pounds
.
But
in
the
end
James
had
paid
it
all
back
.
He
could
still
feel
tingling
through
him
the
passionate
joy
with
which
he
had
counted
out
the
recovered
sovereigns
,
with
the
extra
three
half-sovereigns
of
interest
.
Muster
Drew
indeed
!
John
fell
into
an
angry
inward
argument
against
his
suggestion
of
the
savings
bank
.
It
was
an
argument
he
had
often
rehearsed
,
often
declaimed
,
and
at
bottom
it
all
came
to
this
—
without
that
box
under
his
bed
,
his
life
would
have
sunk
to
dulness
and
decrepitude
;
he
would
have
been
merely
a
pitiful
and
lonely
old
man
.
He
had
neither
wife
nor
children
,
all
for
the
hoard
's
sake
;
but
while
the
hoard
was
there
,
to
be
handled
any
hour
,
he
regretted
nothing
.
Besides
,
there
was
the
peasant
's
rooted
distrust
of
offices
,
and
paper
transactions
,
of
any
routine
that
checks
his
free
will
and
frightens
his
inexperience
.
He
was
still
eagerly
thinking
when
the
light
began
to
flood
into
his
room
,
and
before
he
could
compose
himself
to
sleep
the
women
called
him
.
But
he
shed
no
more
tears
.
He
saw
Eliza
die
,
his
companion
of
forty
years
,
and
hardly
felt
it
.
What
troubled
him
all
through
the
last
scene
was
the
thought
that
now
he
should
never
know
why
she
was
so
set
against
“
Bessie
's
'
avin
'
it
.
”
SCENE
II
IT
was
,
indeed
,
the
general
opinion
in
Clinton
Magna
that
John
Bolderfield
—
or
“
Borrofull
,
”
as
the
village
pronounced
it
,
took
his
sister-in-law
's
death
too
lightly
.
The
women
especially
pronounced
him
a
hard
heart
.
Here
was
“
poor
Eliza
”
gone
,
Eliza
who
had
kept
him
decent
and
comfortable
for
forty
years
,
ever
since
he
was
a
lad
,
and
he
could
go
about
whistling
,
and
—
to
talk
to
him
—
as
gay
as
a
lark
!
Yet
John
contributed
handsomely
to
the
burial
expenses
—
Eliza
having
already
,
through
her
burial
club
,
provided
herself
with
a
more
than
regulation
interment
;
and
he
gave
Jim
's
Louisa
her
mourning
.
Nevertheless
these
things
did
not
avail
.
It
was
felt
instinctively
that
he
was
not
beaten
down
as
he
ought
to
have
been
,
and
Mrs.
Saunders
,
the
smith
's
wife
,
was
applauded
when
she
said
to
her
neighbours
that
“
you
could
n't
expeck
a
man
with
John
Bolderfield
's
money
to
have
as
many
feelin
's
as
other
people
.
”
Whence
it
would
seem
that
the
capitalist
is
no
more
truly
popular
in
small
societies
than
in
large
.
John
,
however
,
did
not
trouble
himself
about
these
things
.
He
was
hard
at
work
harvesting
for
Muster
Hill
's
widow
,
and
puzzling
his
head
day
and
night
as
to
what
to
do
with
his
box
.
When
the
last
field
had
been
carried
and
the
harvest
supper
was
over
,
he
came
home
late
,
and
wearied
out
.
His
working
life
at
Clinton
Magna
was
done
;
and
the
family
he
had
worked
for
so
long
was
broken
up
in
distress
and
poverty
.
Yet
he
felt
only
a
secret
exultation
.
Such
toil
and
effort
behind
—
such
a
dreamland
in
front
!
Next
day
he
set
to
work
to
wind
up
his
affairs
.
The
furniture
of
the
cottage
was
left
to
Eliza
's
son
Jim
,
and
the
daughter
had
arranged
for
the
carting
of
it
to
the
house
twelve
miles
off
where
her
parents
lived
.
She
was
to
go
with
it
on
the
morrow
,
and
John
would
give
up
the
cottage
and
walk
over
to
Frampton
,
where
he
had
already
secured
a
lodging
.
Only
twenty-four
hours
!
—
and
he
had
not
yet
decided
.
Which
was
it
to
be
—
Saunders
,
after
all
—
or
the
savings
bank
—
or
Bessie
?
He
was
cording
up
his
various
possessions
—
a
medley
lot
—
in
different
parcels
and
bundles
when
Bessie
Costrell
knocked
at
the
door
.
She
had
already
offered
to
stow
away
anything
he
might
like
to
leave
with
her
.
“
Well
,
I
thought
you
'd
be
busy
,
”
she
said
as
she
walked
in
,
“
an
'
I
came
up
to
lend
a
hand
.
Is
them
the
things
you
're
goin
'
to
leave
me
to
take
care
on
?
”
John
nodded
.
“
Field
's
cart
,
as
takes
Louisa
's
things
to-morrer
,
is
a-goin
'
to
deliver
these
at
your
place
first
.
They
're
more
nor
I
thought
they
would
be
.
But
you
can
put
'
em
anywheres
.
”
“
Oh
,
I
'll
see
to
them
.
”
She
sat
down
and
watched
him
tie
the
knots
of
the
last
parcel
.
“
There
's
some
people
as
is
real
ill-natured
,
”
she
said
presently
,
in
an
angry
voice
.
“
Aye
?
”
said
John
,
looking
up
sharply
.
“
What
are
they
sayin
'
now
?
”
“
It
's
Muster
Saunders
.
'
Ee
's
allus
sayin
'
nassty
things
about
other
folks
.
And
there
'd
be
plenty
of
fault
to
be
found
with
'
im
,
if
onybody
was
to
try
.
An
'
Sally
Saunders
eggs
him
on
dreadful
.
”
Saunders
was
the
village
smith
,
a
tall
,
brawny
man
,
of
great
size
and
corresponding
wisdom
,
who
had
been
the
village
arbiter
and
general
councillor
for
a
generation
.
There
was
not
a
will
made
in
Clinton
Magna
that
he
did
not
advise
upon
;
not
a
bit
of
contentious
business
that
he
had
not
a
share
in
;
not
a
family
history
that
he
did
not
know
.
His
probity
was
undisputed
;
his
ability
was
regarded
with
awe
;
but
as
he
had
a
sharp
tongue
and
was
no
respecter
of
persons
,
there
was
of
course
an
opposition
.
John
took
a
seat
on
the
wooden
box
he
had
just
been
cording
,
and
mopped
his
brow
.
His
full
cheeks
were
crimson
,
partly
with
exertion
,
partly
with
sudden
annoyance
.
“
What
's
'
ee
been
sayin
'
now
?
Though
it
doa
n't
matter
a
brass
farthin
'
to
me
what
'
ee
says
.
”
“
He
says
you
'
ave
n't
got
no
proper
feelin
'
s
about
poor
Eliza
,
an
'
you
'd
ought
to
have
done
a
great
deal
more
for
Louisa
.
But
'
ee
says
you
allus
were
a
mean
one
with
your
money
—
an
'
you
knew
that
'
ee
knew
it
—
for
'
ee
'd
stopped
you
takin
'
an
unfair
advantage
more
nor
once
.
An
'
'
ee
did
n't
believe
as
your
money
would
come
to
any
good
;
for
now
Eliza
was
gone
you
would
n't
know
how
to
take
care
on
it
.
”
John
's
eyes
flamed
.
“
Oh
!
'
ee
says
that
,
do
'
ee
?
Well
,
Saunders
wor
allus
a
beast
—
an
'
a
beast
'
ee
'll
be
.
”
He
sat
with
his
chin
on
his
large
dirty
hands
,
ruminating
furiously
.
It
was
quite
true
that
Saunders
had
thwarted
him
more
than
once
.
There
was
old
Mrs.
Moulsey
at
the
shop
,
when
she
wanted
to
buy
those
cottages
in
Potter
's
Row
—
and
there
was
Sam
Field
the
higgler
—
both
of
them
would
have
borrowed
from
him
if
Saunders
had
n't
cooled
them
off
.
Saunders
said
it
was
a
Jew
's
interest
he
was
asking
—
because
there
was
security
—
but
he
was
n't
going
to
accept
a
farthing
less
than
his
shilling
a
pound
for
three
months
—
not
he
!
So
they
might
take
it
or
leave
it
.
And
Mrs.
Moulsey
got
hers
from
the
Building
Society
,
and
Sam
Field
made
shift
to
go
without
.
And
John
Bolderfield
was
three
pounds
poorer
that
quarter
than
he
need
have
been
—
all
along
of
Saunders
.
And
now
Saunders
was
talking
“
agen
him
”
like
this
—
blast
him
!
“
Oh
,
an
'
then
he
went
on
,
”
pursued
Bessie
with
gusto
,
“
about
your
bein
'
too
ignorant
to
put
it
in
the
post-office
.
'
Ee
said
you
'd
think
Edwards
would
go
an
'
spend
it
”
(
Edwards
was
the
post-master
)
,
“
an
'
then
he
laughed
fit
to
split
'
imself
.
Yer
could
n't
see
more
nor
the
length
of
your
own
nose
,
he
said
,
—
it
was
edication
you
wanted
.
As
for
'
im
,
'
ee
said
,
'
ee
'd
have
kep
'
it
for
you
if
you
'd
asked
him
,
but
you
'd
been
like
a
bear
with
a
sore
'
ead
,
'
ee
said
,
ever
since
Mrs.
Moulsey
's
affair
—
so
'
ee
did
n't
suppose
you
would
.
”
“
Well
,
'
ee
's
about
right
there
,
”
said
John
,
grimly
;
“
'
ee
's
talkin
'
sense
for
onst
when
'
ee
says
that
.
I
'd
dig
a
hole
in
the
hill
and
bury
it
sooner
nor
I
'd
trust
it
to
'
im
—
I
would
,
by
—
”
he
swore
vigorously
.
“
A
thieving
set
of
magpies
is
all
them
Saunders
—
cadgin
'
'
ere
and
cadgin
'
there
.
”
He
spoke
with
fierce
contempt
,
the
tacit
hatred
of
years
leaping
to
sight
.
Bessie
's
bright
brown
eyes
looked
at
him
with
sympathy
.
“
It
was
just
his
nassty
spite
,
”
she
said
.
“
He
knew
'
ee
could
never
ha
'
done
it
—
not
what
you
've
done
—
out
o
'
your
wages
.
Not
unless
'
ee
got
Sally
to
tie
'
im
to
the
dresser
with
ropes
so
as
'
ee
could
n't
go
a-near
the
Spotted
Deer
no
more
!
”
She
laughed
like
a
merry
child
at
her
own
witticism
,
and
John
relished
it
too
,
though
he
was
not
in
a
laughing
mood
.
“
Why
,
”
continued
Bessie
with
enthusiasm
,
“
it
was
Muster
Drew
as
said
to
me
the
other
afternoon
,
as
we
was
walkin
'
'
ome
from
the
churchyard
,
says
'
ee
,
‘Mrs
.
Costrell
,
I
call
it
splendid
what
John
's
done
—
I
do
,
’
'
ee
says
.
‘A
labourer
on
fifteen
shillin
's
a
week
—
why
,
it
's
an
example
to
the
county
,
’
'
ee
says
.
‘'Ee
ought
to
be
showed.’
”
John
's
face
relaxed
.
The
temper
and
obstinacy
in
the
eyes
began
to
yield
to
the
weak
complacency
which
was
their
more
normal
expression
.
There
was
silence
for
a
minute
or
two
.
Bessie
sat
with
her
hands
on
her
lap
and
her
face
turned
towards
the
open
door
.
Beyond
the
cherry-red
phloxes
outside
it
,
the
ground
fell
rapidly
to
the
village
,
rising
again
beyond
the
houses
to
a
great
stubble
field
,
newly
shorn
.
Gleaners
were
already
in
the
field
,
their
bent
figures
casting
sharp
shadows
on
the
golden
upland
,
and
the
field
itself
stretched
upwards
to
a
great
wood
that
lay
folded
round
the
top
of
a
spreading
hill
.
To
the
left
,
beyond
the
hill
,
a
wide
plain
travelled
into
the
sunset
,
its
level
spaces
cut
by
the
scrawled
elms
and
hedgerows
of
the
nearer
landscape
.
The
beauty
of
it
all
—
the
beauty
of
an
English
midland
—
was
of
a
modest
and
measured
sort
,
depending
chiefly
on
bounties
of
sun
and
air
,
on
the
delicacies
of
gentle
curves
and
the
pleasant
intermingling
of
wood
and
cornfield
,
of
light
spaces
with
dark
,
of
solid
earth
with
luminous
sky
.
Such
as
it
was
,
however
,
neither
Bessie
nor
John
spared
it
a
moment
's
attention
.
Bessie
was
thinking
a
hundred
busy
thoughts
.
John
,
on
the
other
hand
,
had
begun
to
consider
her
with
an
excited
scrutiny
.
She
was
a
handsome
woman
,
as
she
sat
in
the
doorway
with
her
fine
brown
head
turned
to
the
light
.
But
John
naturally
was
not
thinking
of
that
.
He
was
in
the
throes
of
decision
.
“
Look
'
ere
,
Bessie
,
”
he
said
suddenly
;
“
what
'
ud
you
say
if
I
wor
to
ask
Isaac
an
'
you
to
take
care
on
it
?
”
Bessie
started
slightly
.
Then
she
looked
frankly
round
at
him
.
She
had
very
keen
,
lively
eyes
,
and
a
bright
red-brown
colour
on
thin
cheeks
.
The
village
applied
to
her
the
epithet
which
John
's
thoughts
had
applied
to
Muster
Hill
's
widow
.
They
said
she
was
“
caselty
,
”
which
means
flighty
,
haphazard
,
excitable
;
but
she
was
popular
,
nevertheless
,
and
had
many
friends
.
It
was
,
of
course
,
her
own
settled
opinion
that
her
uncle
ought
to
leave
that
box
with
her
and
Isaac
;
and
it
had
wounded
her
vanity
,
and
her
affection
besides
,
that
John
had
never
yet
made
any
such
proposal
,
though
she
knew
—
as
,
indeed
,
the
village
knew
—
that
he
was
perplexed
as
to
what
to
do
with
his
hoard
.
But
she
had
never
dared
to
suggest
that
he
should
leave
it
with
her
,
out
of
fear
of
Eliza
Bolderfield
.
Bessie
was
well
aware
that
Eliza
thought
ill
of
her
,
and
would
dissuade
John
from
any
such
arrangement
if
she
could
.
And
so
formidable
was
Eliza
—
a
woman
of
the
hardest
and
sourest
virtue
—
when
she
chose
,
that
Bessie
was
afraid
of
her
,
even
on
her
death-bed
,
though
generally
ready
enough
to
quarrel
with
other
people
.
Nevertheless
,
Bessie
had
always
felt
that
it
would
be
a
crying
shame
and
slight
if
she
and
Isaac
did
not
have
the
guardianship
of
the
money
.
She
thirsted
,
perhaps
,
to
make
an
impression
upon
public
opinion
in
the
village
,
which
,
as
she
instinctively
realized
,
held
her
cheaply
.
And
then
,
of
course
,
there
was
the
secret
thought
of
John
's
death
,
and
what
might
come
of
it
.
John
had
always
loudly
proclaimed
that
he
meant
to
spend
his
money
,
and
not
leave
it
behind
him
.
But
the
instinct
of
saving
,
once
formed
,
is
strong
.
John
,
too
,
might
die
sooner
than
he
thought
—
and
she
and
Isaac
had
children
.
She
had
come
up
,
indeed
,
that
afternoon
,
haunted
by
a
passionate
desire
to
get
the
money
into
her
hands
;
yet
the
mere
sordidness
of
“
expectations
”
counted
for
less
in
the
matter
than
one
would
suppose
.
Vanity
,
a
vague
wish
to
ingratiate
herself
with
her
uncle
,
to
avoid
a
slight
—
these
were
,
on
the
whole
,
her
strongest
motives
.
At
any
rate
,
when
he
had
once
asked
her
the
momentous
question
,
she
knew
well
what
to
say
to
him
.
“
Well
,
if
you
arst
me
,
”
she
said
hastily
,
“
of
course
we
think
as
it
's
only
nateral
you
should
leave
it
with
Isaac
an
'
me
,
as
is
your
own
kith
and
kin
.
But
we
was
n't
goin
'
to
say
nothin
'
;
we
did
n't
want
to
be
pushin
'
of
ourselves
forward
.
”
John
rose
to
his
feet
.
He
was
in
his
shirt-sleeves
,
which
were
rolled
up
.
He
pulled
them
down
,
put
on
his
coat
,
an
air
of
crisis
on
his
fat
face
.
“
Where
'
ud
you
put
it
?
”
he
said
.
“
Yer
know
that
cupboard
by
the
top
of
the
stairs
?
It
'
ud
stand
there
easy
.
And
the
cupboard
's
got
a
good
lock
to
it
;
but
we
'd
'
ave
it
seen
to
,
to
make
sure
.
”
She
looked
up
at
him
eagerly
.
She
longed
to
feel
herself
trusted
and
important
.
Her
self-love
was
too
often
mortified
in
these
respects
.
John
fumbled
round
his
neck
for
the
bit
of
black
cord
on
which
he
kept
two
keys
—
the
key
of
his
room
while
he
was
away
,
and
the
key
of
the
box
itself
.
“
Well
,
let
's
get
done
with
it
,
”
he
said
.
“
I
'm
off
to-morrer
mornin
'
,
six
o'clock
.
You
go
and
get
Isaac
to
come
down
.
”
“
I
'll
run
,
”
said
Bessie
,
catching
up
her
shawl
and
throwing
it
over
her
head
.
“
He
wor
just
finishin
'
his
tea
.
”
And
she
whirled
out
of
the
cottage
,
running
up
the
steep
road
behind
it
as
fast
as
she
could
.
John
was
vaguely
displeased
by
her
excitement
;
but
the
die
was
cast
.
He
went
to
make
his
arrangements
.
Bessie
ran
till
she
was
out
of
breath
.
When
she
reached
her
own
house
,
a
cottage
in
a
side
lane
above
the
Bolderfields
'
cottage
and
overlooking
it
from
the
back
,
she
found
her
husband
sitting
with
his
pipe
at
the
open
door
and
reading
his
newspaper
.
Three
out
of
her
own
four
children
were
playing
in
the
lane
,
otherwise
there
was
no
one
about
.
Isaac
greeted
her
with
a
nod
and
slight
lightening
of
the
eyes
,
which
,
however
,
hardly
disturbed
the
habitual
sombreness
of
the
face
.
He
was
a
dark
,
finely
featured
man
,
with
grizzled
hair
,
carrying
himself
with
an
air
of
sleepy
melancholy
.
He
was
much
older
than
his
wife
,
and
was
a
prominent
leader
in
the
little
Independent
chapel
of
the
village
.
His
melancholy
could
give
way
on
occasion
to
fits
of
violent
temper
.
For
instance
,
he
had
been
almost
beside
himself
when
Bessie
,
who
had
leanings
to
the
Establishment
,
as
providing
a
far
more
crowded
and
entertaining
place
of
resort
on
Sundays
than
her
husband
's
chapel
,
had
rashly
proposed
to
have
the
youngest
baby
christened
in
church
.
Other
Independents
did
it
freely
—
why
not
she
?
But
Isaac
had
been
nearly
mad
with
wrath
,
and
Bessie
had
fled
upstairs
from
him
,
with
her
baby
,
and
bolted
the
bedroom
door
in
bodily
terror
.
Otherwise
,
he
was
a
most
docile
husband
—
in
the
neighbours
'
opinion
,
docile
to
absurdity
.
He
complained
of
nothing
,
and
took
notice
of
little
.
Bessie
's
untidy
ways
left
him
indifferent
;
his
main
interest
was
in
a
kind
of
religious
dreaming
,
and
in
an
Independent
paper
to
which
he
occasionally
wrote
a
letter
.
He
was
gardener
at
a
small
house
on
the
hill
,
and
had
rather
more
education
than
most
of
his
fellows
in
the
village
.
For
the
rest
,
he
was
fond
of
his
children
,
and
,
in
his
heart
of
hearts
,
exceedingly
proud
of
his
wife
,
her
liveliness
and
her
good
looks
.
She
had
been
a
remarkably
pretty
girl
when
he
married
her
,
some
eight
years
after
his
first
wife
's
death
,
and
there
was
a
great
difference
of
age
between
them
.
His
two
elder
children
by
his
first
marriage
had
long
since
left
the
home
.
The
girl
was
in
service
.
It
troubled
him
to
think
of
the
boy
,
who
had
fallen
into
bad
ways
early
.
Bessie
's
children
were
all
small
,
and
she
herself
still
young
,
though
over
thirty
.
When
Bessie
came
up
to
him
,
she
looked
round
to
see
that
no
one
could
hear
.
Then
she
stooped
and
told
him
her
errand
in
a
panting
whisper
.
He
must
go
down
and
fetch
the
box
at
once
.
She
had
promised
John
Borrofull
that
they
would
stand
by
him
.
They
were
his
own
flesh
and
blood
—
and
the
cupboard
had
a
capital
lock
—
and
there
was
n't
no
fear
of
it
at
all
.
Isaac
listened
to
her
at
first
with
amazement
,
then
sulkily
.
She
had
talked
to
him
often
certainly
about
John
's
money
,
but
it
had
made
little
impression
on
his
dreamer
's
sense
.
And
now
her
demand
struck
him
disagreeably
.
He
did
n't
want
the
worrit
of
other
people
's
money
,
he
said
.
Let
them
as
owned
it
keep
it
;
filthy
lucre
was
a
snare
to
all
as
had
to
do
with
it
;
and
it
would
only
bring
a
mischief
to
have
it
in
the
house
.
After
a
few
more
of
these
objections
,
Bessie
lost
her
temper
.
She
broke
into
a
torrent
of
angry
arguments
and
reproaches
,
mainly
turning
,
it
seemed
,
upon
a
recent
visit
to
the
house
of
Isaac
's
eldest
son
.
The
drunken
ne'er-do-weel
had
given
Bessie
much
to
put
up
with
.
Oh
yes
!
—
she
was
to
be
plagued
out
of
her
life
by
Isaac
's
belongings
,
and
he
would
n't
do
a
pin
's
worth
for
her
.
Just
let
him
see
next
time
,
that
was
all
.
Isaac
smoked
vigorously
through
it
all
.
But
she
was
hammering
on
a
sore
point
.
“
Oh
,
it
's
just
like
yer
!
”
Bessie
flung
at
him
at
last
in
desperation
.
“
You
're
allus
the
same
—
a
mean-spirited
feller
,
stannin
'
in
your
children
's
way
!
'
Ow
do
you
know
who
old
John
's
going
to
leave
his
money
to
?
'
Ow
do
you
know
as
he
would
n't
leave
it
to
them
poor
innercents
”
—
she
waved
her
hand
tragically
towards
the
children
playing
in
the
road
—
“
if
we
was
just
a
bit
nice
and
friendly
with
him
now
'
ee
's
gettin
'
old
?
But
you
do
n't
care
,
not
you
!
—
one
'
ud
think
yer
were
made
o
'
money
—
an
'
that
little
one
there
not
got
the
right
use
of
his
legs
!
”
She
pointed
,
half
crying
,
to
the
second
boy
,
who
had
already
shown
signs
of
hip
disease
.
Isaac
still
smoked
,
but
he
was
troubled
in
his
mind
.
A
vague
presentiment
held
him
,
but
the
pressure
brought
to
bear
upon
him
was
strong
.
“
I
tell
yer
the
lock
is
n't
a
good
'
un
!
”
he
said
,
suddenly
removing
his
pipe
.
Bessie
stopped
instantly
in
the
middle
of
another
tirade
.
She
was
leaning
against
the
door
,
arms
akimbo
,
eyes
alternately
wet
and
flaming
.
“
Then
,
if
it
is
n't
,
”
she
said
,
with
a
triumphant
change
of
tone
,
“
I
'll
soon
get
Flack
to
see
to
it
—
it
's
nobbut
a
step
.
I
'll
run
up
after
supper
.
”
Flack
was
the
village
carpenter
.
“
An
'
there
's
mother
's
old
box
as
takes
up
the
cupboard
,
”
continued
Isaac
gruffly
.
Bessie
burst
out
laughing
.
“
Oh
!
yer
old
silly
,
”
she
said
.
“
As
if
they
could
n't
stand
one
top
o
'
the
t'other
.
Now
,
do
just
go
,
Isaac
—
there
's
a
lovey
!
'
Ee
's
waitin
'
for
yer
.
Whatever
did
make
yer
so
contrairy
?
Of
course
I
did
n't
mean
nothin
'
I
said
—
an
'
I
do
n't
mind
Timothy
,
nor
nothin
'
.
”
Still
he
did
not
move
.
“
Then
I
s'pose
yer
want
everybody
in
the
village
to
know
?
”
he
said
with
sarcasm
.
Bessie
was
taken
aback
.
“
No
—
I
—
do
n't
—
”
she
said
undecidedly
—
“
I
do
n't
know
what
yer
mean
.
”
“
You
go
back
and
tell
John
as
I
'll
come
when
it
's
dark
,
an
'
,
if
he
's
not
a
stupid
,
he
wo
n't
want
me
to
come
afore
.
”
Bessie
understood
and
acquiesced
.
She
ran
back
with
her
message
to
John
.
At
half-past
eight
,
when
it
had
grown
almost
dark
,
Isaac
descended
the
hill
.
John
opened
the
door
to
his
knock
.
“
Good
evenin
'
,
Isaac
.
Yer
'll
take
it
,
will
yer
?
”
“
If
you
ca
n't
do
nothin
'
better
with
it
,
”
said
Isaac
,
unwillingly
.
“
But
in
gineral
I
'm
not
partial
on
keeping
other
folk
's
money
.
”
John
liked
him
all
the
better
for
his
reluctance
.
“
It
'll
give
yer
no
trouble
,
”
he
said
.
“
You
lock
it
up
,
an
'
it
'
ll
be
all
safe
.
Now
,
will
yer
lend
a
hand
?
”
Isaac
stepped
to
the
door
,
looked
up
the
lane
,
and
saw
that
all
was
quiet
.
Then
he
came
back
,
and
the
two
men
raised
the
box
.
As
they
crossed
the
threshold
,
however
,
the
door
of
the
next
cottage
—
which
belonged
to
Watson
,
the
policeman
—
opened
suddenly
.
John
,
in
his
excitement
,
was
so
startled
that
he
almost
dropped
his
end
of
the
box
.
“
Why
,
Bolderfield
,
”
said
Watson
's
cheery
voice
,
“
what
have
you
got
there
?
Do
you
want
a
hand
?
”
“
No
,
I
do
n't
—
thank
yer
kindly
,
”
said
John
in
agitation
.
“
An
'
,
if
you
please
,
Muster
Watson
,
do
n't
yer
say
nothin
'
to
nobody
.
”
The
burly
policeman
looked
from
John
to
Isaac
,
then
at
the
box
.
John
's
hoard
was
notorious
,
and
the
officer
of
the
law
understood
.
“
Lor
'
bless
yer
,
”
he
said
,
with
a
laugh
,
“
I
'm
safe
.
Well
,
good
evenin
'
to
yer
,
if
I
ca
n't
be
of
any
assistance
.
”
And
he
went
off
on
his
beat
.
The
two
men
carried
the
box
up
the
hill
.
It
was
in
itself
a
heavy
,
old-fashioned
affair
,
strengthened
and
bottomed
with
iron
.
Isaac
wondered
whether
the
weight
of
it
were
due
more
to
the
box
or
to
the
money
.
But
he
said
nothing
.
He
had
no
idea
how
much
John
might
have
saved
,
and
would
not
have
asked
him
the
direct
question
for
the
world
.
John
's
own
way
of
talking
about
his
wealth
was
curiously
contradictory
.
His
“
money
”
was
rarely
out
of
his
thoughts
or
speech
,
but
no
one
had
ever
been
priviledged
for
many
years
now
to
see
the
inside
of
his
box
,
except
Eliza
once
;
and
no
one
but
himself
knew
the
exact
amount
of
the
hoard
.
It
delighted
him
that
the
village
gossips
should
double
or
treble
it
.
Their
estimates
only
gave
him
the
more
ground
for
vague
boasting
,
and
he
would
not
have
said
a
word
to
put
them
right
.
When
they
reached
the
Costrells
'
cottage
,
John
's
first
care
was
to
examine
the
cupboard
.
He
saw
that
the
large
wooden
chest
filled
with
odds
and
ends
of
rubbish
which
already
stood
there
was
placed
on
the
top
of
his
own
box
.
Then
he
tried
the
lock
,
and
pronounced
it
adequate
;
he
did
n't
want
to
have
Flack
meddling
round
.
Now
at
the
moment
of
parting
with
his
treasure
he
was
seized
with
a
sudden
fever
of
secrecy
.
Bessie
meanwhile
hovered
about
the
two
men
,
full
of
excitement
and
loquacity
.
And
the
children
,
shut
into
the
kitchen
,
wondered
what
could
be
the
matter
.
When
all
was
done
,
Isaac
locked
the
cupboard
,
and
solemnly
presented
the
key
to
John
,
who
added
it
to
the
other
round
his
neck
.
Then
Bessie
unlocked
the
kitchen
,
and
set
the
children
flying
,
to
help
her
with
the
supper
.
She
was
in
her
most
bustling
and
vivacious
mood
,
and
she
had
never
cooked
the
bloaters
better
or
provided
a
more
ample
jug
of
beer
.
But
John
was
silent
and
depressed
.
He
took
leave
at
last
with
many
sighs
and
lingerings
.
But
he
had
not
been
gone
half
an
hour
,
and
Bessie
and
Isaac
were
just
going
to
bed
,
when
there
was
a
knock
at
the
door
,
and
he
reappeared
.
“
Let
me
lie
down
there
,
”
he
said
,
pointing
to
a
broken-down
old
sofa
that
ran
under
the
window
.
“
I
'm
lonesome
somehow
,
an
'
I
've
told
Louisa
.
”
His
white
hair
and
whiskers
stood
out
wildly
round
his
red
face
.
He
looked
old
and
ill
,
and
the
sympathetic
Bessie
was
sorry
for
him
.
She
made
him
a
bed
on
the
sofa
,
and
he
lay
there
all
night
,
restless
,
and
sighing
heavily
.
He
missed
Eliza
more
than
he
had
done
yet
,
and
was
oppressed
with
a
vague
sense
of
unhappiness
.
Once
,
in
the
middle
of
the
night
when
all
was
still
,
he
stole
upstairs
in
his
stockinged
feet
and
gently
tried
the
cupboard
door
.
It
was
quite
safe
,
and
he
went
down
contented
.
An
hour
or
two
later
he
was
off
,
trudging
to
Frampton
through
the
August
dawn
,
with
his
bundle
on
his
back
.
SCENE
III
SOME
five
months
passed
away
.
One
January
night
the
Independent
minister
of
Clinton
Magna
was
passing
down
the
village
street
.
Clinton
lay
robed
in
light
snow
,
and
“
sparkling
to
the
moon
.
”
The
frozen
pond
beside
the
green
,
though
it
was
nearly
eight
o'clock
,
was
still
alive
with
children
,
sliding
and
shouting
.
All
around
the
gabled
roofs
stood
laden
and
spotless
.
The
woods
behind
the
village
,
and
those
running
along
the
top
of
the
snowy
hill
,
were
meshed
in
a
silvery
mist
which
died
into
the
moonlit
blue
,
while
in
the
fields
the
sharpness
of
the
shadows
thrown
by
the
scattered
trees
made
a
marvel
of
black
and
white
.
The
minister
,
in
spite
of
a
fighting
creed
,
possessed
a
measure
of
gentler
susceptibilities
,
and
the
beauty
of
this
basin
in
the
chalk
hills
,
this
winter
triumphant
,
these
lights
of
home
and
fellowship
in
the
cottage
windows
disputing
with
the
forlornness
of
the
snow
,
crept
into
his
soul
.
His
mind
travelled
from
the
physical
purity
and
hardness
before
him
to
the
purity
and
hardness
of
the
inner
life
—
the
purity
that
Christ
blessed
,
the
“
hardness
”
that
the
Christian
endures
.
And
such
thoughts
brought
him
pleasure
as
he
walked
—
the
mystic
's
pleasure
.
Suddenly
he
saw
a
woman
cross
the
snowy
green
in
front
of
him
.
She
had
come
from
the
road
leading
to
the
hill
,
and
her
pace
was
hurried
.
Her
shawl
was
muffled
round
her
head
,
but
he
recognized
her
,
and
his
mood
fell
.
She
was
the
wife
of
Isaac
Costrell
,
and
she
was
hurrying
to
the
Spotted
Deer
,
a
public-house
which
lay
just
beyond
the
village
,
on
the
road
to
the
mill
.
Already
several
times
that
week
had
he
seen
her
going
in
or
coming
out
.
Talk
had
begun
to
reach
him
,
and
he
said
to
himself
to-night
as
he
saw
her
,
—
that
Isaac
Costrell
's
wife
was
going
to
ruin
.
The
thought
oppressed
him
,
pricked
his
pastoral
conscience
.
Isaac
was
his
right-hand
man
:
dull
to
all
the
rest
of
the
world
,
but
not
dull
to
the
minister
.
With
Mr.
Drew
sometimes
he
would
break
into
talk
of
religion
,
and
the
man
's
dark
eyes
would
lose
their
film
.
His
big
troubled
self
spoke
with
that
accent
of
truth
which
lifts
common
talk
and
halting
texts
to
poetry
.
The
minister
,
himself
more
of
a
pessimist
than
his
sermons
showed
,
felt
a
deep
regard
for
him
.
Could
nothing
be
done
to
save
Isaac
's
wife
and
Isaac
?
Not
so
long
ago
Bessie
Costrell
had
been
a
decent
woman
,
though
a
flighty
and
excitable
one
.
Now
some
cause
,
unknown
to
the
minister
,
had
upset
a
wavering
balance
,
and
was
undoing
a
life
.
As
he
passed
the
public-house
a
man
came
out
,
and
through
the
open
door
Mr.
Drew
caught
a
momentary
glimpse
of
the
bar
and
the
drinkers
.
Bessie
's
handsome
,
reckless
head
stood
out
an
instant
in
the
bright
light
.
Then
Drew
saw
that
the
man
who
had
emerged
was
Watson
the
policeman
.
They
greeted
each
other
cordially
and
walked
on
together
.
Watson
also
was
a
member
of
the
minister
's
flock
.
Mr.
Drew
felt
suddenly
moved
to
unburden
himself
.
“
That
was
Costrell
's
wife
,
Watson
,
was
n't
it
,
poor
thing
?
”
“
Aye
,
it
wor
Mrs.
Costrell
,
”
said
Watson
in
the
tone
of
concern
natural
to
the
respectable
husband
and
father
.
The
minister
sighed
.
“
It
's
terrible
the
way
she
's
gone
downhill
the
last
three
months
.
I
never
pass
almost
but
I
see
her
going
in
there
or
coming
out
.
”
“
No
,
”
said
Watson
,
slowly
,
“
no
,
it
's
bad
.
What
I
'd
like
to
know
,
”
he
added
reflectively
,
“
is
where
she
gets
the
money
from
.
”
“
Oh
,
she
had
a
legacy
,
had
n't
she
,
in
August
?
It
seems
to
have
been
a
curse
.
She
has
been
a
changed
woman
ever
since
.
”
“
Yes
,
she
had
a
legacy
,
”
said
Watson
,
dubiously
;
“
but
I
do
n't
believe
it
was
much
.
She
talked
big
,
of
course
,
and
made
a
lot
o
'
fuss
—
she
's
that
kind
o
'
woman
—
just
as
she
did
about
old
John
's
money
.
”
“
Old
John
's
money
?
—
Ah
!
did
any
one
ever
know
what
became
of
that
?
”
“
Well
,
there
's
many
people
thinks
as
Isaac
has
got
it
hid
in
the
house
somewhere
,
and
there
's
others
thinks
he
's
put
it
in
Bedford
bank
.
Edwards
told
me
private
he
did
n't
know
nothing
about
it
at
the
post-office
,
an
'
Bessie
told
my
wife
as
John
had
given
Isaac
the
keepin
'
of
it
till
he
come
back
again
;
but
he
'd
knock
her
about
,
she
said
,
if
she
let
on
what
he
'd
done
with
it
.
That
's
the
story
she
's
allus
had
,
and
boastin
'
,
of
course
,
dreadful
,
about
John
's
trustin
'
them
,
and
Isaac
doin
'
all
his
business
for
him
.
”
The
minister
reflected
.
—
“
And
you
say
the
legacy
was
n't
much
?
”
“
Well
,
sir
,
I
know
some
people
over
at
Bedford
where
her
aunt
lived
as
left
it
her
,
and
they
were
sure
it
was
n't
a
great
deal
;
but
you
never
know
.
”
“
And
Isaac
never
said
?
”
“
Bless
yer
,
no
,
sir
!
He
was
never
a
great
one
for
talking
,
was
n't
Isaac
;
but
you
'd
think
now
as
he
'd
never
learnt
how
.
He
'll
set
there
in
the
Club
of
a
night
and
never
open
his
mouth
to
nobody
.
”
“
Perhaps
he
's
fretting
about
his
wife
,
Watson
?
”
“
Well
,
I
do
n't
believe
as
he
knows
much
about
her
goin's-on
—
not
all
,
leastways
.
I
've
seen
her
wait
till
he
was
at
his
work
or
gone
to
the
Club
,
and
then
run
down
the
hill
,
—
tearin
'
—
with
her
hair
flyin
'
—
you
'd
think
she
'd
gone
silly
.
Oh
,
it
's
a
bad
business
,
”
said
Watson
,
strongly
,
“
an
'
uncommon
bad
business
—
all
them
young
children
too
.
”
“
I
never
saw
her
drunk
,
Watson
.
”
“
No
—
yer
would
n't
.
Nor
I
neither
.
But
she
'll
treat
half
the
parish
if
she
gets
the
chance
.
I
know
many
young
fellers
as
go
to
the
Spotted
Deer
just
because
they
know
she
'll
treat
'
em
.
She
's
a-doin
'
of
it
now
—
there
's
lots
of
'
em
.
And
allus
changin
'
such
a
queer
lot
of
money
too
—
odd
half-crowns
,
—
years
and
years
old
—
King
George
the
Third
,
sir
.
No
—
it
's
strange
—
very
strange
.
”
The
two
walked
on
into
the
darkness
,
still
talking
.
Meanwhile
,
inside
the
Spotted
Deer
Bessie
Costrell
was
treating
her
hangers-on
.
She
had
drunk
one
glass
of
gin
and
water
—
it
had
made
a
beauty
of
her
in
the
judgment
of
the
tap-room
,
such
a
kindling
had
it
given
to
her
brown
eyes
and
such
a
redness
to
her
cheek
.
Bessie
,
in
truth
,
had
reached
her
moment
of
physical
prime
.
The
marvel
was
that
there
were
no
lovers
in
addition
to
the
drinking
and
the
extravagance
.
But
the
worst
of
the
village
scandalmongers
knew
of
none
.
Since
this
new
phase
of
character
in
her
had
developed
,
she
would
drink
and
make
