"See here, Dr. Raynor," was the reply--and the tone was lowered in what sounded very like fear. "You know of the hurt I got in the pit in Staffordshire--which lamed me for good? Well, the night before it I heard the Seven Whistlers. They warned me of ill-luck then; and now they've warned me again, and I know it will come. I won't go down the mine till three days have passed. The other men may do as they like." He walked on with the last words. Mr. Blase Pellet, who had been looking on at the interview from over the way, gazed idly after Bell until he had turned the corner and was out of sight. All in a moment, as though some recollection came suddenly to him, Blase tore off his white apron, darted in for his hat, and ran after Bell; coming up with him just beyond the parsonage. What Mr. Blase Pellet communicated to him, to put Bell's temper up as it did, and what particular language he used, was best known to himself. If the young man had any conscience, one would think that remorse, for what that communication led to, must lie on it to his dying day. Its substance was connected with Rosaline and Frank Raynor. He was telling tales of them, giving his own colouring to what he said, and representing the latter gentleman and matters in general in a very unfavourable light indeed. "If he dares to molest her again, I'll knock his head off," threatened Bell to himself and the Bare Plain, as he parted with Pellet, and made his way across it, muttering and brandishing his stick. The other men had disappeared, each within his home. Bell was about to enter his, when Mrs. Janes came out of her one room, her hair hanging, her gown in tatters, her voice shrill. She placed herself before Bell. "I've been asking about my man. They tells me he es in a-drinking at the Golden Shaaft. I'll twist hes ears for he when he comes out on't And now I'm a-going to have it out with you about they Whistlers! Ef the----" Mrs. Janes's eloquence was summarily arrested. With an unceremonious push, Josiah Bell put her out of his way, strode on to his own door, and closed it against her. Rosaline was alone, laying the cloth for dinner. Bell, excited by drink, abused his daughter roundly, accusing her of "lightness" and all sorts of unorthodox things. Rosaline stared at him in simple astonishment. "Why, father, what can you be thinking of?" she exclaimed. "Who has been putting this into your head?" "Blase Pellet," answered Bell, scorning to equivocate. "And I'd a mind to knock him down for his pains--whether it's true or whether it's not." "True!--that I could be guilty of light conduct!" returned Rosaline. "Father, I thought you knew me better. As to Mr. Raynor, I don't believe he is capable of an unworthy thought. He would rather do good in the world than evil." And her tone was so truthful, her demeanour so consciously dignified, that Bell felt his gloomy thoughts melt away as if by magic; and he wished he _had_ knocked Mr. Pellet down.