But, on the Friday morning, when putting on this same holiday gown to attend the inquest, to which she had been summoned, what was her horror to find the packet burst, and her pocket filled with the loose powder. Mrs. Dovey had no greater love for beetle-powder in itself than she had for beetles, and visibly shuddered. She could not empty it out; there it had to remain; for Dovey, excited by his wife's having to give evidence, was in and out of her room like a dog in a fair; and she went off perforce with the stuff in her pocket. And when during her examination the questions took the turn they did take, and the coroner asked her whether she had had any poison in her pocket that night at George Reed's; this, with the consciousness of what had been that night in her pocket, of what was in her pocket at that very moment, then present, nearly frightened her into fits. From that hour, Ann Dovey had lived in a state of terror. It was not that she believed any of the beetle-powder _could_ have got inside the ill-fated young ones (though she did not feel quite easy on the point), as that she feared the accusation might be shifted off Crew's shoulders and on to hers. On this Thursday evening she could hold out no longer; and disclosed all to Dovey. Dovey burst upon us in a heat. He was as straightforward a man as ever lived, of an intensely honest nature, and could no more have kept it in, now that he knew it, than he could have given up all righteous dealing together. His chief concern was to tell the truth, and to restore peace to his wife. He went through the narrative to Duffham without stopping; and seemed not in the least to care for my being present. "It ain't _possible_, sir, there ain't a moral _possibility_ that any o' that there dratted powder could have come anigh the babies," wound up Dovey. "I should be thankful, sir, if you'd come down and quieten her a bit; her be in a fine way." What with surprise, and what with the man's rapid speech, Duffham had not taken in one-half of the tale. He had simply sat behind the teapot and stared. "My good fellow, I don't understand," he said. "A pocketful of poison! What on earth made her take poison to George Reed's?" So Dovey went over the heads of the story again. "'Twas in her pocket, sir, our Ann's, it's true; but the chances are that at that time the paper hadn't burst. None of it _couldn't_ ha' got to them there two young ones." To see the blacksmith's earnestness was good. His face was as eager, his tone as imploring, as though he were pleading for his life. "And it 'ud be a work of charity, sir, if you'd just step down and see her. I'd pay handsome for the visit, sir; anything you please to charge. She's like one going right out of her mind." "I'll come," said Duffham, who had his curiosity upon the point. And the blacksmith set off on the run home again. "Well, this is a curious thing!" exclaimed Duffham, when he had gone.