The other obeyed and in a few moments he was safe. Ned fished his cap out of the water, wrung it and handed it to him. “I’m bitter sorry—my cursed temper.” Kellock sat down for a moment and pressed the water out of his clothes. He was quite calm. “I dare say it was natural,” he answered. “If you’d but listened—” “You can’t listen to things if you’re in hell. Take my arm. No good biding here. I’ll see you to your house. You can have the law of me. I deserve it. I’m no bloody good to anybody in the world now-a-days. Better I was locked up, I reckon.” “Don’t talk rot. We’re all learners. You’ve learned me something anyway. See me home. I’m dazed, but I shall be all right in a minute. And don’t let on about this. I shall say I slipped on the edge of the water and fell in and bruised my head—just an accident and my fault. And so it was my fault.” “I won’t have that. You rub it in. I’ve earned it. I shall tell the people what I am, if you don’t.” “That won’t do,” answered the other. “Think of me as well as yourself in that matter. You’re popular; I’m not; and if they hear you’ve knocked me into the water, they’ll say there was a reason for it.” Dingle did not answer, but he knew this to be true. “Least said soonest mended then.” “For your wife’s sake, Ned.” “Leave her out, please. I’m in your debt and I shan’t forget it.” They met some women returning to the works and lied to them. All expressed great concern. Then Ned brought Kellock to his rooms and begged him to drink some spirits which he refused to do. “Mind we tell the same tale about this,” said Jordan. “I fell in and you grabbed me from the bank and brought me ashore. After all it’s the truth, so far as it goes.” Dingle agreed and then returned to his work; while the injured man, though in considerable pain, only waited to change his clothes and then hastened back to the Mill, to explain his accident and be chaffed for his carelessness. CHAPTER IX THE OLD PRIORY There was none to drag up the melancholy blossoms of Medora’s woe and display the fact that they had no roots; but she kept them alive nevertheless; and since she was tickled to persist in folly by the increasing interest created from her alleged sufferings, she woke up to find those sufferings real at last. She had now earned a great deal of pity and won a reputation for patience and endurance. She had also awakened a certain measure of feeling against Ned, which was inevitable, and now conditions which she had implied, knowing at the bottom of her heart they did not exist, began to develop in reality. The man was not built to watch Medora’s histrionics in patience for ever, and she found him growing harsh and rough.