“Not that it makes any difference to _us_,” sobbed Mrs. Granite; “we set just as much by you. But your standing is affected in this community. There’s them that hates you, sir, more shame to ’em, more’n the Old Boy himself. Mr. Bayard, Mr. Bayard, don’t you go to Ragged Rock alone, sir, this time o’ night to meet no tom-fool of a drunkard anxious about his soul. He don’t own such a thing to his name! All he’s got is a rum-soaked sponge, he’s mopped up whiskey with all his born days!” “Your drinks (if not your metaphors) are getting a little mixed, dear Mrs. Granite,” laughed Bayard. “_Sir?_” said Mrs. Granite. “But still I must say, there is some sense in your view of the case--Ah, here’s Jane; and Ben with her. We’ll put the case to--No. I have it. Mrs. Granite, to please you, I will take Ben Trawl along with me. Will that set you at rest?--Here, Trawl. Just read this message, will you? Something about it looks a little queer, and Mrs. Granite is so kind as to worry about me. What do you make of it?” “Oh, you’ve got home so soon, have you?” said Trawl rather sullenly. In the evening his eyebrows met more heavily than ever across his forehead; they looked as if they had been corked for some ugly masquerade. He glanced from under them, coldly, at the minister; read the note, and was about to tear it into strips. “I’ll take it, thank you,” said Bayard quietly, holding out his hand. “Mr. Bayard,” said Jane, who had not spoken before, “I hope you will pay no attention to this message.” She spoke in a voice so low as to be almost inarticulate. “Oh, I’ll go with him, if he’s afraid,” said Trawl, with that accent which falls just so far short of a sneer that a man may not decently notice it. “I incline to think it is wise to take a witness to this adventure,” replied Bayard serenely. “But I need not trouble you, Mr. Trawl. Pray don’t exert yourself to oblige me.” “It’s no exertion,” said Ben, with a change of tone. “Come along!” He strode out into the street and Bayard, after a moment’s hesitation, did the same, shutting the garden gate behind him. Jane Granite opened it, and followed them for a little way; she seemed perplexed and distressed; she did not speak, but trotted silently, like a dog, in the dark. “Go back!” said Trawl, stopping short. Jane slunk against a fence, and stopped. “Go back, I say!” cried Trawl. “It is natural that she should want to come. She feels anxious about you,” observed Bayard kindly. “Go back to your mother, and stay there!” commanded Trawl, stamping his foot.