“Yes; and now”—the landlord looked round, smiled, and put his hands into his waistband—"middling good, I think." “Uncommon,” said Pasco. “I suppose it is the better look of the house that has brought better custom.” “That’s just it. I had only common wayfarers before—mostly tramps. Now—the better sort altogether. Where I turned over a penny before, I turn over a shilling now.” “So you rebuilt your public-house to get better business?” “Well, you see, I couldn’t help myself. The old place caught fire and burnt down.” “And it did not ruin you?” “Dear me, no. I was insured.” “So—that set you on your legs again?” “It was the making of me, was that fire.” “How long had you been insured before you were burnt out?” “Well, now, that is the curious part of the story,” said the landlord; “hardly a week.” “And how did your place catch fire?” “There was a tramp. I refused to take him in, as he had no money. That was the best stroke of business I ever did in my life. He hid himself in a sort o’ lean-to there was over the pigs’ houses, joined on to the house, and in it was straw. I reckon he went to sleep there with his pipe alight, and he set fire to the place.” “Was he burnt?” “No; he got away all right; but the straw set fire to the rafters, and they ran into the wall. It was a poor old wall, with no mortar in it, and the rafters came in just under those of the upstairs chambers, so that when the roof of the linhay was afire, it set the house in a blaze too. That was how it all came about.” “And a good job it was for you!” “It was the making of me.” Pasco was silent through the meal. He seemed hardly to taste what he was eating. He gulped down his food and drank copiously. Bramber was relieved when he left. He was afraid Pepperill would drink more than he could bear. At the entrance to the village he left the cart, and thanked Pasco for the lift. Pepperill drove on to Coombe Cellars. As he came up, he saw his wife standing at the door with a light in her hand. “Pasco, is that you?” “Who else?” “So, you are home at last. There has been the coal merchant here; he swears he will bring you no more, and that, unless you pay up this month, he will set the lawyers on you.” Pepperill flung himself from his cart. “Heavens!” said he, looking sullenly at his stores; “if they would but burn!” “Burn—what burn?” asked Mrs. Pepperill sharply. “Do you think you cannot leave the house for a day but some mischief must come on it? As if I were not to be trusted, and everything lay with you.” “I did not mean that, Zerah.” “Then what did you mean?” “I meant that it might have got me out of difficulties.” “What might?” Pasco did not answer. “I should like to know how, if the store were to be burnt, any good would come of that. You’ve been drinking, Pasco.” “I’m insured,” said he in a low tone. “Oh, it has come to that, has it? Heaven help us!” The woman beat her face with her open palms, turned, and went within.