He was singing as they brought him back on a shutter, in the early morning; but it was not wholly with drunkenness, for delirium had hold of him. Down to the south of the house were long stretches of marsh, reaching into the Great South Bay, and there he had wandered in his first intoxication. There he had stepped over the edge of a little dyke that surrounded Mr. Tullingworth–Gordon’s pike–pond—where all the pike died, because the water was too salt for them—and there they found him lying on his back, with one of the most interesting cases of compound fracture in his right leg that has yet been put on record, and with the flat stones that topped the dyke lying over him. They took him to his room over the stable, and put him to bed, and sent for the doctor. The doctor came, and set the leg. He also smelt of Mr. Bilson’s breath, and gazed upon Mr. Bilson’s feverish countenance, and said: “Hard drinker, eh? We’ll have trouble with him, probably. Hasn’t he got anybody to look after him?” This query found its way up to the manor–house of the Tullingworth–Gordons. It came, in some way, to the ears of Sophronia. Shortly after dinner–time she appeared in the chamber of Bilson. Bilson was “coming out of it.” He was conscious, he was sore; he was heavy of heart and head. He looked up, as he lay on his bed, and saw a comely, middle–aged Englishwoman, sharp of feature, yet somehow pleasant and comforting, standing by his bed. “Sophronia!” he exclaimed. “Hush!” she said; “the medical man said you wasn’t to talk.” “Sophronia—’tain’t you!” “P’r’aps it ain’t,” said Sophronia, sourly; “p’r’aps it’s a cow, or a ’orse or a goat, or anythin’ that is my neighbor’s. But the best I know, it’s me, an’ I’ve come to ’ave an eye on you.” “Sophronia!” gasped the sufferer; “‘tain’t noways proper.” “‘T’s goin’ to be proper, Samuel Bilson. You wait, an’ you’ll see what you’ll see. ’Ere ’e comes.” [Illustration] Mr. Bilson’s room was reached by a ladder, coming up through a hole in the floor. Through this hole came a peculiarly shaped felt hat; then a pale youthful face; then a vest with many buttons. “To ’ave and to ’old,” said Sophronia. “‘Ere ’e is.” The head came up, and a long, thin body after it. Pale and gaunt, swaying slightly backward and forward, like a stiff cornstalk in a mild breeze, the Reverend Mr. Chizzy stood before them and smiled vaguely.