'That doesn't flatter you, ma'am.' 'Hey?' Mrs Tresize looked up sharply. 'You don't suppose that means my _age_?' 'I--er--fancied it might. It would be a guess, of course.' 'Nonsense,' said Mrs Tresize. 'It _is_ nonsense,' the doctor agreed. 'The man was obviously misinformed.' 'It doesn't refer to my age at all,' said Mrs Tresize, positively. 'It--it alludes to something quite different. I was barely nineteen when I married.' 'If you can guess to what it alludes--' '_Reported good money, but near--_' read the widow, paused, and uttered a liquid laugh. 'Oh, I am glad you showed me this. We'll punish him for that, doctor, if he dares to turn up.' 'If,' echoed the doctor, with a glance at the gun-racks. 'I ought to go and warn Tryphena.' 'Every moment may be precious,' he agreed again, while she went to the chimney-place and fetched the now boiling kettle. She mixed the drink and set it close before him, where he leaned pondering a pile of gold he had poured upon the table from one of the canvas bags. The steam mounting from the glass bedimmed his spectacles. He took them off to wipe them, and perceived that she was smiling. She bit her lip at being thus caught. 'I was thinking,' she made haste to explain, 'what a funny situation 'twould be if by any chance the man was innocent, and you'd driven off with money that honestly belonged to him.' 'Honest men don't put on women's clothes to tramp the moors at night,' Doctor Unonius objected. 'Well, I don't see that it mightn't happen. A man having this money to carry, and afraid of being robbed, might put it to himself that rough characters--specially gipsies--often let a woman pass where they'd attack a man. Or suppose, now, the man _was_ a gipsy?--he'd sold three horses, we'll say, at Tregarrick Christmas Fair, and was trudging it back to his camp somewhere on the moors. A gipsy would be the very man to hit on that kind of disguise, it being against his own principles to hurt any woman but his wife.' 'This man was a butcher, ma'am, and no gipsy.' 'O--oh!' cried the widow, with a little gasp. 'How do you know?' 'Never mind how I know, ma'am. He was a butcher, right enough; and, on your hypothesis that I've committed highway robbery upon an innocent man, I'd like you to explain how he comes to be carrying about this paper. "One large chest" he credits you with possessing; it is to be handled quickly and hidden in the orchard, if necessary-- that is, I suppose, if he should be surprised; and to resist him you have nobody on the premises but your servant maid Tryphena. For what innocent purpose, pray, does he carry about this memorandum?' ''Myes, I suppose you are right,' Mrs Tresize assented with a little sigh, and forthwith shifted the conversation. 'But taste your brandy, please, and tell me how you like it--though, to be sure, it won't compare with Squire Peneluna's.'