‘How could I help it? If I’d refused to fetch her the brandy she would have turned me out of doors, and I should have had to go on the tramp; and that would have been hard after I’d got used to sleeping in a house, and having my victuals regular. I daren’t refuse to do anything she asked me for fear of the strap. She wouldn’t hesitate about laying in to me.’ ‘Poor, unhappy child. There, go to your room and lie down. I will take care of you henceforward, Elspeth.’ The girl said not a word, but came gently in to the room, knelt down by Mrs. Penwyn, and took up the hem of her dress and kissed it, an almost Oriental expression of gratitude and submission. ‘I’ve heard tell about angels, but I never believed in ’em till I came to know you,’ she said tearfully, and then left the room. Rebecca had sunk back upon the pillow exhausted. Madge sat beside her, prepared for the next interval of delirium. Churchill stood by the window, looking out at the pine grove, and the dark sea beyond. And thus the night wore on, and at daybreak, just when the slate-coloured sea looked coldest, and the east wind blew sharp and chill, and the shrill cry of chanticleer rang loud from the distant farmyard, Rebecca Mason’s troubled spirit passed to the land of rest, and Churchill Penwyn knew that the one voice which could denounce him was silenced for ever. Before breath had departed from that wasted frame the Squire had examined all boxes and drawers in the room—they were not many—lest any record of his secret should lurk among the gipsy’s few possessions. He had gone downstairs to the sitting-room for the same purpose, and had found nothing. Afterwards, when all was over, he found a little bundle rolled up in a tattered old bird’s-eye neckerchief under the dead woman’s pillow. It contained a few odd coins, and the handkerchief with which James Penwyn’s murderer had wiped his ensanguined hand. All Churchill’s influence had been too little to extort this hideous memento from the gipsy while life remained to her. Madge was kneeling by the open window, her face hidden, absorbed in silent prayer, when her husband discovered this hoarded treasure. He took it down to the room below, thrust it among the smouldering ashes of the wood fire, and watched it burn to a grey scrap of tinder which fluttered away from the hearth. A little after daybreak, Elspeth was up and dressed, and had sped off to the village in search of a friendly gossip, who was wont to perform the last offices for poor humanity. To this woman Madge resigned her charge. ‘Lord bless you, ma’am!’ cried the village dame, lost in admiration. ‘To think that a sweet young creature like you should leave your beautiful home to nurse a poor old woman!’