"Miss Madlin!" she said to herself. "I'd know her walk anywhere. And all in black, too. Ah!" Poll Perrow stopped short with her mouth open. "How horrid!" she ejaculated. "It killed him then, after all. Poor Master Van Heldre! Poor Master Harry Vine!" She rubbed a tear away with her rough brown hand. Then starting up, she made the mussels in her basket rattle. "What nonsense!" she said. "Why, Master Crampton told me last night, and down the street, that Master Van Heldre was much better, and he couldn't ha' died and Miss Madlin gone in mourning since last night. They couldn't ha' got the gownd made." By this time Madelaine had reached the Vines' gate and gone in. "Phew!" Poll Perrow gave vent to a low whistle, something like the cry of a gull. "Why, I know!" she muttered. "Miss Madlin's gone into mourning all along o' Master Harry. Then my Liza's a great goose. She was fond of him after all. Why! only to think!" She turned off down a narrow path, so as to get round to the back door, where she was met by Liza, looking very red and angry. "Now, what have you come for again? I saw you coming as I let Miss Madlin in, and it's too bad." "Oh, Liza, Liza!" said the fish-woman, "what a wicked girl you are to talk to your poor mother like that!" "I don't care whether it's wicked or whether it arn't wicked, but I just tell you this: if you come begging again, you may just go back, for you'll get nothing here. It's disgraceful; you taking to that." "No, no, not begging, my clear," said Poll, staring at her daughter's red-brown face, as if lost in admiration. "Lor', Liza, what a hansum gal you do grow!" "Now, do adone, mother, and don't talk like that." "I can't help it, Liza. I wonder half the fisher-lads in port arn't half mad after you." "Now, mother, be quiet; you'll have Miss Margreet hear!" "Nay, she'll be down-stairs with the company, won't she? Yes, Liza, you do grow more and more hansum every day." "Then you oughtn't to tell me so, mother. It'll only make me prouder than I am. Now, what do you want again? This is four times you've been here this week." "Is it, my clear? Well, you see, I've got some of them big mussels as you're so fond on, and I brought you a few to cook for your supper." "It's very good of you. Well, there: give them to me, and do please go." "Yes, my dear, there you are. That's right. Haven't got a bit o' cold meat, and a bit o' bread you could give me, have you, Liza?" "No, I haven't, mother; and you ought to be ashamed to ask." "So I am, my dear, almost. But you have got some, or half a chicken and some ham." "Chicken! Oh, the idea!" "Yes. There's a good girl; and if there's a bit o' cold pudden, or anything else, let's have it too. Put it all together in a cloth." "Now, mother, I won't. It's stealing, and I should feel as if I'd stole it." "Oh, what a gal you are, Liza! Why, didn't I wash and iron and bring home that last napkin, looking white as snow?" "Yes, but--"