The dog was quick. But Bealby was quicker. He went up the netting of a hen run and gave the dog no more than an ineffectual snap at his heels. And then dashing from the cottage door came the tramp. Under one arm was a brass-bound workbox and in the other was a candlestick and some smaller articles. He did not instantly grasp the situation of his treed companion, he was too anxious to escape the tall woman, and then with a yelp of dismay he discovered himself between woman and dog. All too late he sought to emulate Bealby. The workbox slipped from under his arm, the rest of his plunder fell from him, for an uneasy moment he was clinging to the side of the swaying hen run and then it had caved in and the dog had got him. The dog bit, desisted and then finding itself confronted by two men retreated. Bealby and the tramp rolled and scrambled over the other side of the collapsed netting into a parallel track and were halfway to the hedge before the dog,—but this time in a less vehement fashion,—resumed his attack. He did not close with them again and at the hedge he halted altogether and remained hacking the gloaming with his rage. The woman it seemed had gone into the house, leaving the tramp’s scattered loot upon the field of battle. “This means mizzle,” said the tramp, leading the way at a trot. Bealby saw no other course but to follow. He had a feeling as though the world had turned against him. He did not dare to think what he was nevertheless thinking of the events of these crowded ten minutes. He felt he had touched something dreadful; that the twilight was full of accusations.... He feared and hated the tramp now, but he perceived something had linked them as they had not been linked before. Whatever it was they shared it. § 6 They fled through the night; it seemed to Bealby for interminable hours. At last when they were worn out and footsore they crept through a gate and found an uncomfortable cowering place in the corner of a field. As they went they talked but little, but the tramp kept up a constant muttering to himself. He was troubled by the thought of hydrophobia. “I know I’ll ’ave it,” he said, “I know I’ll get it.” Bealby after a time ceased to listen to his companion. His mind was preoccupied. He could think of nothing but that very white man in the chair and the strange manner of his movement. “Was ’e awake when you saw ’im?” he asked at last. “Awake—who?” “That old man.” For a moment or so the tramp said nothing. “’E wasn’t awake, you young silly,” he said at last. “But—wasn’t he?” “Why!—don’t you know! ’E’d croaked,—popped off the ’ooks—very moment you saw ’im.” For a moment Bealby’s voice failed him. Then he said quite faintly, “You mean—he’d —. Was dead?” “Didn’t you know?” said the tramp. “Gaw! What a kid you are!”