Dinner over, Dr. Rane hastened out again, on his way to see Mrs. Ketler. He had just reached that bench in the shady part of the road at the neck of the Ham, when he saw Jelly coming along. The doctor only wished there was some shelter to dart into, by which he might avoid her. Ever since the night when he had heard that agreeable conversation as he sat under the cedar-tree, Jelly's keen green eyes had been worse than poison to him. She stopped when she met him. "So that child of Susan Ketler's is come, sir!" "Ay," said Dr. Rane. "What in the world brings it here now?" "Well, I don't know," returned the doctor. "Children often come without giving their friends due notice. I am on my way there." "And not as much as a bed gown to wrap it in," resentfully went on Jelly, "and not a bit of tea or oatmeal in the place for her! My faith! baby after baby coming into the world, and the men out on strike! This makes seven--if they'd all been alive: she'll be contented perhaps when she has seventeen." "It is the way of the world, Jelly. Set up the children first, and consider what to do with them afterwards." "What's this that's the matter with Tim Wilks, sir?" demanded Jelly, abruptly changing the subject. "With Tim Wilks! I did not know that anything was the matter with him." "Yes, there is," said Jelly. "I met old Green just now, and he said Timothy Wilks was in bed ill. They thought it might be a bilious attack, if it was not the fever." "I'll call in and see him," said Dr. Rane. "Has he been drinking again?" Jelly's eyes flashed with resentment. Considering that Tim had really kept sober and steady for the past year and a half, she looked on the question as a frightful aspersion. More especially so as proceeding from Dr. Rane. "_I_ can answer for it that he has not been drinking--and so, as I supposed, might everybody else," was her tart reply. "Timothy Wilks is worried, sir; that's what it is. He has never been at ease since people accused him of writing that anonymous letter: and he never will be till he is publicly cleared of it. Sir, I think he ought to be cleared." Was it an ice-bolt that seemed to shoot through Oliver Rane's heart?--or only a spasm? Something took it: though he managed to keep his countenance, and to speak with quiet indifference. "Cleared? Cleared of what? I fancied it had been ascertained that Wilks was the man who spoke of the affair out of Dale's office. He can't clear himself from that. As to any other suspicion, no one has cast it on him." "Well, sir--of course _you know best_," answered Jelly, recollecting herself and cooling down: but she could not help emphasizing the words. "If Tim should become dangerously ill, it might have to be done to set his mind at rest." "What might have to be done?" demanded Dr. Rane with authority.