Susie did not hear her; her face was burning as she bent it close to Jim’s. “I’ll not mind nothin’, Jim,” she said. “I’d be only too proud and glad to work for ’ee.” “There’d be my pension of course,” said he. “But you’re so young, Susie; you might do better p’r’aps—if ’tweren’t for the little chap here.” He thrust out his long, feeble hand and touched the child’s soft face, his own working with emotion the while. Wife, and child, and home—all there within the grasp of those weak hands. Could he give them up? And yet to be a burden all his days to the trusting creature, of whose ignorance he had already taken shameful advantage. “Susie,” he whispered, “you don’t know what you’re doing.” “Nay,” she returned earnestly, “I do know it very well—I do ax but one thing, Jim.” “And what’s that?” “God’s blessin’,” said Susie; and stretching out her hand she pressed to his lips the finger which was encircled by the wedding-ring. * * * * * Mrs. Frizzell returned in the evening alone, it having been arranged that Susan was to remain in Dorchester until Jim was sufficiently recovered for the marriage to take place. She looked very worn and pale and tired as she turned in at her garden-gate, and was anything but gratified to find the alert Mrs. Cross on the watch for her. “Well, my dear, so you’ve come back wi’out her! ’Twas the right man, then, after all?” “’Ees,” returned Mrs. Frizzell faintly, “’twas the right man. And him and Susie be to set up house so soon as he gets a bit better.” “Ah-h-h. Be he so bad, then, my dear?” “Well,” said Mrs. Frizzell, putting down her basket and setting her arms akimbo, “he be that bad that he haven’t a-got but one leg, and not much use in that; and one of his arms be damaged. But Susan—dear! a body ’ud think there was nothin’ ever so j’yful in the world as the notion o’ keepin’ en.” “Bless me! it do seem queer! She’ll find it ’ard work, won’t she, Mrs. Frizzell? I suppose he’ll want just so many victuals as if he were a sound man, and not be doin’ nothin’ to earn ’em.” “Well, he’ve a-got a pension. There, don’t ’ee talk to me, Mrs. Cross, my dear. To tell ’ee the truth, I do scarce know what I be doin’. It bain’t what I did look for, d’ye see. The man himself—my daughter’s ’usband—he bain’t the man I did take en for.” “Ye don’t tell me so!” ejaculated Mrs. Cross, with a dropping jaw. “In what way be he different, Martha?” “Why,” returned Mrs. Frizzell slowly, “I d’ ’low I did tell ’ee as my daughter’s ’usband were a dark man. Well, that’s one thing as I did make a mistake about—his hair be red, Mrs. Cross.” “Red!” repeated the other, with a gasp. “’Ees, red,” reiterated Mrs. Frizzell, assuming a stolid expression. “That be the colour on it, Mrs. Cross.”