“Then poor Nancy’s tied a knot wi’ her tongue ’at she willn’t be able to loosen wi’ her teeth,” wailed old Ambrose, and would have said more but Inman interrupted him. “I fancy you find me in the way, gentlemen, and will discuss this happy event more freely in my absence. There are some of you I cannot expect to honour this toast with any enthusiasm; but I won’t remain to spy on you. I am to share my wife’s home, and you will excuse me if I now return there to share her company.” He spoke mockingly, like an actor who had rehearsed his part until he knew it by heart, but when he was about to withdraw Maniwel’s voice stopped him. “This’ll be sore news for Jagger, Mr. Inman, and well you know it. But disappointment comes to us all one time or another; and the lad played his cards badly and must make t’ best on’t. Maybe he’ll come to see ’at you were t’ best man for her; maybe she’ll come to see ’at you weren’t—there’s no telling. But anyway I’ll drink her health, my lad, wi’ a right good will, for I wish t’ lass naught but good, so if you were thinking ’at I should be one to stand out you’re mista’en. And there’s one word I’d say to you ’at it’ll do you no harm to remember—‘A good Jack makes a good Jill,’ and it’s t’ same with a bad ’un.” The voice and the eyes were alike sympathetic and sincere, and Inman was disconcerted; but only for a moment. “Much obliged, I’m sure,” he said dryly. “I hope you’ll spend a profitable evening in this Mutual Improvement Class, gentlemen. I’m sorry I can’t.” When the door closed upon him Maniwel spoke again. “This’ll be a sad blow, neighbours, for Jagger; but he’s got to keep his feet. I should be sorry for him to hear of it from anyone else, and I’ll step round home now, and help to buck him up. But if you’re agreeable we’ll just drink to the lass first. God bless her! say I.” “Aye, and God help her!” growled the protester. * * * * * A dim light from a storm lantern threw into strong relief the features of father and son as they sat, the younger man on the bench; the older on an upturned box, amid the shadows of the workshop. Jagger’s eyes were on the ground, on the heap of shavings that he had been turning over with his foot for half an hour; gathering them into a heap, dispersing them, and gathering them again. Maniwel’s eyes were fixed on his son’s face. Talking was over, or almost over. He had said all that he could think of; and if earnest solicitude for another’s welfare, keen anxiety that character should be hardened and tempered by adversity, is prayer, then Maniwel was praying. The door was barred, and there had been no interruption of any kind. At length Jagger raised his head and met his father’s gaze. His own face was white and weary-looking; there were lines on the brow that looked in that feeble light like ink-smudges, and there were similar shadows at the corners of the mouth.