Kester hesitated a moment. Should he quarrel with this man and set him at defiance, or should he not? Could he afford to quarrel with him? that was the question. Perhaps it would be as well to keep from doing so as long as possible. “I’m going to walk back across the moor as far as Sedgeley,” said Kester. “Then I’ll walk with you—though three miles is rather a big stretch to do with my game leg. I can get a gig from there that will take me home.” Kester shrugged his shoulders, but made no comment. Skeggs took up his hat and stick, and proceeded to polish the former article with his sleeve. “Queer woman that,” he said, with a jerk of his thumb towards the bed—“very queer. Hard as nails. With something heroic about her, to my mind—something that, under different circumstances, might have developed her into a remarkable woman. Well, that’s the way with heaps of us. Circumstances are dead against us, and we are not strong enough to overmaster them; else should we smite the world with surprise, and genius would not be so scarce an article in the market as it is now.” Kester stared. Was this the half-drunken blackguard who had been jeering at him but two minutes ago? “And yet, drunk he must be,” added Kester to himself. “No fellow in his senses would talk such precious rot.” “Your obedient servant, sir,” said Skeggs, with a purposely exaggerated bow as he held open the door for Mr. St. George to pass out. The girl was still sitting on the wall with her skirt drawn over her head. Kester went up to her. “I will send some one along first thing to-morrow morning to see to the funeral and other matters,” he said, “if you can manage till then.” “Oh, I can manage right enough. Why not?” said the girl. “I thought that perhaps you might not care to be in the house by yourself all night.” “Oh, I don’t mind that.” “Then you are not afraid?” “What’s there to be frittened of? She’s quiet enough now. I shall make up a jolly fire, and have a jolly supper, and then a jolly long sleep. And that’s what I’ve not had for weeks. And I shall read the Dream Book. She can’t keep that from me now. I know where it is. It’s in the bed right under her. But I’ll have it.” She laughed and nodded her head, then putting a nut into her mouth she cracked it and began to pick out the kernel. Kester turned away. “Nell, my good girl,” said Mr. Skeggs, insinuatingly, “just see whether there isn’t such a thing as a drop of whiskey somewhere about the house. I’ve an awful pain in my chest.” “There’s no whiskey—not a drop—but I know where there’s half a bottle of gin. Give me five shillings and I’ll fetch it.” “Five shillings for half a bottle of gin! Why, Nell, what a greedy young pig you must be!” “Don’t have it then. Nobody axed you. I can drink it myself.” “I’ll give you three shillings for it. Come now.” “Not a meg less than five will I take,” said Nell, emphatically, as she cracked another nut.