But this was not easily explained. On being catechised Mr. Briarley either shed tears of penitence or shook his head with deep solemnity of meaning. At times when he began to shake it--if the hour was late and his condition specially foggy--he was with difficulty induced to stop shaking it, but frequently continued to do so with protracted fervor and significance gradually decreasing until he fell asleep. When he was sober he was timorous and abstracted. He started at the sound of the opening door, and apparently existed in a state of secret expectation and alarm. "I conna tell thee, Sararann," he would say. "At least," with some tremor, "I wunnot tell thee just yet. Thou'lt know i' toime." He did not patronize the "Who'd ha' Thowt it" as much as formerly, in these days, Janey discovered. He evidently got the beer elsewhere, and at somebody's expense. His explanation of this was a brilliant and happy one, but it was only offered once, in consequence of the mode of its reception by his hearers. He presented it suddenly one night after some moments of silence and mental research. "Theer's a gentlemon as is a friend o' moine," he said, "as has had uncommon luck. His heirs has deed an' left him a forchin, an' he's come into it, an' he's very mich tuk wi' me. I dunnot know as I ivver seed ony one as mich tuk wi' me, Sararann--an' his heirs deein' an' leavin' him a forchin--that theer's how it is, Sararann,--that theer's how it is." "Tha brazant leer!" cried Mrs. Briarley, aghast. "Tha brazant leer! Get out wi' thee!" in an outburst of indignation. "Thee an' thy forchins an' heirs deein'--as if it wur na bad enow at th' start. A noice chap tha art to set thysen up to know gentlefolks wi' heirs to dee an' leave 'em brass. Eh! Bless us! what art tha comin' to?" The result was not satisfactory, as Mr. Briarley felt keenly. "Tha hast getten no confydence i' me, Sararann," he said in weak protest. "Tha has na no faith--nor yet," following the train of thought with manifest uncertainty,--"nor yet no works." The situation was so painful, however, that he made no further effort of the imagination to elucidate the matter, and it remained temporarily obscured in mystery. Only temporarily, however. A few weeks afterward Ffrench came down to the Works in great excitement. He went to Haworth's room, and finding him there, shut the door and almost dropped into a chair. "What's up?" demanded Haworth, with some impatience. "What's up, man?" "You haven't heard the report?" Ffrench answered, tremulously. "It hasn't reached you yet?" "I've heard nowt to upset me. Out with it! What's up?" He was plainly startled, and lost a shade of color, but he held himself boldly. Ffrench explained himself with trepidation.