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 recognised 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, wasn'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, hadn'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 don'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?"