'Went wrong,' he adds, as she hesitates, 'I know what you want to say. Go on, Mrs. Naldret. _Your_ words don't hurt me.' 'Before that time, George used to come home full of admiration for you and your gifts. He said that you were the best-read man in all the trade, and I'm sure, to hear you speak is proof enough of that. Well, let be, Saul; let the past die, and make up your mind, like a man, to do better in the future.' 'Let the past die!' he repeats, as through the clouds that darken his mind rifts of human love shine, under the influence of which his voice grows indescribably soft and tender. 'Let the past die! No, not for a world of worlds. Though it is filled with shame, I would not let it go.--What are you looking for?' 'It's Jim's time--my husband's--for coming home,' she says, a little anxiously, looking up the street. 'He mightn't like----' But again she hesitates and stumbles over her words. 'To see you talking to me. He shall not My eyes are better than his, and the moment I see him turn the corner of the street, I will go.' 'What were you looking through the shutters for?' 'I wanted to see if George was at home.' 'And supposing he had been?' 'I should have waited in the street until he came out.' 'Do you think Jim Naldret would like to see his son talking to Saul Fielding?' 'No, I don't suppose he would,' he replies quietly; 'but for all that, I shall do George no harm. I would lay down my life to serve him. You don't know what binds me and George together. And he is going away soon--how soon, Mrs. Naldret?' 'In a very few days,' she answers, with a sob in her throat. 'God speed him! Ask him to see me before he goes, will you, Mrs. Naldret?' 'Yes, I will, Saul; and thank you a thousand times for the good feeling you show to him.' 'Tell him that I have joined the waits, and that he will hear my flute among them any night this week. I'll manage so that we don't go away from this neighbourhood till he bids good-bye to it.' 'Joined the waits!' she exclaims. 'Good Lord! Have you come to that?' 'That's pretty low, isn't it?' he says, with a light laugh, and with a dash of satire in his tone. 'But, then, you know--playing the flute--is one of my gifts--(I learnt it myself when I was a boy)--and if s the only thing I can get to do. Is there any tune you're very fond of, and would like to hear as you lie a-bed? If there is, we'll play it.' 'If you could play a tune to keep George at home,' says Mrs. Naldret, 'that's the tune I'd like to hear.' 'Your old Gospel of contentment, Mrs. Naldret,' he remarks. 'I like to let well alone,' she replies, with emphatic nods; 'if you'd been content with that, years ago, instead of trying to stir men up----' 'I shouldn't be as I am now,' he says, interrupting her; 'you are right--you are right. Good-night, and God bless you!'