“In faith, sir, I cannot. But it looks an ugly business. The wench, it appears, was gone to visit a neighbour, and the stableman to squire her. When they return--there is smoke leaking through the roof of the tap. They burst in, and are met by a vaporous volley of flame. The old man is down on the floor, insensible in the midst of it. They drag him out, and the young man hath the wit to observe that the fire has its three distinct sources or centres of eruption. That, to my mind, suspicions of some foulness. But him that could have best acquainted us of the truth has his mouth sealed to the Day of Judgment.” “He is dead.” “He is dead, sir.” “And his granddaughter?” “She is in there with the body. Her grief is very poignant for the moment.” “I must see her.” “By your leave, sir--” “I must see her, Dr. Harmsworth. You needn’t say me nay, sir. I know, and would act the part of friend by her.” The doctor would have further protested, but Jim put him roughly to one side and made a way for his gentleman. “In here, sir,” he said. It was a little sombre, pathetic scene that Tuke faced as he entered. A flaring candle, stuck in a cleft-stick, split up the windy darkness of the interior into spokes of light and shadow. From the roof, great misty mats of cobwebs drooping, swayed in the draught like grotesque banners hung appropriately to the lying-in-state of the dusty thing on the floor. Thereover a hard-grained female was stooped, engaged in covering the dead face with a napkin; and leaned upright against a partition, her head dropped listlessly upon her arm, was the poor living victim of all this tragic gallimaufry. “Betty!” A start and a shiver went through her, but she did not raise her face. “I saw the glare,” he whispered behind her into her upturned ear, “and my heart misgave me and I rode over to your help. Yes, it is too late for him, Betty; but, for yourself, my dear? It is no time to speak of it all now; but if there has been villainy here, I will spend my fortune at need to procure its punishment. Betty!” She only buried her face deeper in her arm. He put his hand on her shoulder with a caressing touch; then removed it and crossed to the kneeling woman. “Tell me,” he said, stooping and speaking low--“has she any one relation in the village?” “No, sir. Them two was alone in the world.” “Friends--acquaintances? Any single soul who would show her kindness in this great affliction?” The woman scrambled to her feet. “Betty was none disliked,” she said. “But, Lord ha’ mercy, sir! is it righteous to talk to the poor, in sick a winter as this, o’ the grace o’ charity? Will your honour look at the gal, and tell me if them busts and shoulders was like to ha’ been nourished on pitaty parings?” “She is ruined?” The woman stared. “Saving your honour, I won’t believe it. The gal is no road for the men, but as good a wench as ever served a pot.” “Ruined, I mean, in the sense of fortune. She hath lost her all in this burning?”