All this was bad enough, yet it was but a beginning of troubles. Since Joan’s departure Mr. Gillingwater had been drunk at least twice as often as usual—as he declared in his sober moments, and with some truth, in order to console himself for the loss of Joan, who was the one human creature to whom he was attached. One of these drinking bouts culminated in his making a furious attack, in the bar of the Crown and Mitre, upon a customer who was also drunk. For this assault he was fined at the petty sessions; and on the matter coming before the bench on licensing day, his license to keep a public-house, that already had been twice endorsed by the police, was taken away from him,—which meant, of course, that the Crown and Mitre was closed as a place of refreshment for man and beast for so long as the landlord, Mr. Levinger, chose to allow him to occupy it. No wonder, then, that on this morning of the receipt of Mrs. Bird’s letter Mrs. Gillingwater was depressed in mind as she sat drinking her tea and trying to master an invitation from no less a person than “Victoria, by the grace of God, etc.,” to attend a county court and show cause why she should not pay a certain sum of four pounds three and nine-pence halfpenny, with costs, for various necessaries of life bought by and duly delivered to her, the said defendant. Hearing a knock at the door, Mrs. Gillingwater threw down the summons with an expression that was more forcible than polite having reference, indeed, to the temporal and spiritual welfare of her august sovereign and of all those who administer justice under her. Then, having looked carefully through the window to make sure that her visitor was not another bailiff or policeman, she opened the door and took her letter. “I don’t know the writing,” she muttered, turning it round and round suspiciously. “It may be another of those dratted summonses, or something of that sort; I’ve half a mind to throw it into the fire and swear that I never got it, only then that fool of a postman would give me the lie, for I took it from him myself.” In the end she opened the letter and spelt through its contents with difficulty and ever growing astonishment. “Well,” she said, as she put it down, “here’s some luck at last, anyway. If that silly girl doesn’t go and die it will be hard if I don’t turn an honest penny out of her, now that I know where she’s got to. Samuel would pay up to learn, but it’s best to let him lie awhile, for I can work more out of him when she gets well again if she does. I’m off up to the old man’s, for that’s the safest game: he’ll scarcely bow me out with this in my hand; and if I don’t give him a nip or two before I am done with him, the mean old scamp, then my fingers grow on my feet, that’s all!” For be it known that on two recent occasions when Mrs. Gillingwater called, Mr. Levinger had declared himself not to be at home, and this when she could plainly see him standing by the study window.