Kate was called on to make the first cut of the monster. A faint colour had returned to her cheeks since she had come home. She was talking a little, and even laughing sometimes, as if the weight on her heart was lightening every moment. She rose at the call, took, with the hand nearest to the dish, the knife that her father held out, and plunged it into the pudding. As she did so, with all eyes upon her, the wedding-ring on her finger flashed in the light and was seen by everybody. “Look at that, though,” cried Black Tom. “There's the wife for a husband, if you plaze. Ashamed of showing it, is she? Not she, the bogh.” Then there was much giggling among the younger women, and cries of “Aw, the poor girl! Going to church has been making her left-handed!” “Time enough, my beauties,” cried Pete; “and mind you're not struck that way yourselves one of these days.” Away went the dishes, and the parson rose to return thanks. “Never heard that grace but once before, Parson Quiggin,” said Pete, “and then”--lighting his pipe--“then it was a burial sarvice.” “A _burial_ sarvice!” A dozen voices echoed the words together, and in a moment the table was quiet. “Yes, though,” said Pete. “It was up at Johannesburg. Two chums settled there, and one married a girl. Nice lil thing, too; some of the Boer girls, you know; but not much ballast at her at all. The husband went up country for the Consolidated Co., and when he came back there was trouble. Chum had been sweethearting the wife a bit!” “Aw, dear!”--“Aw, well, well!” “Do? The husband? He went after the chum with a repeater, and took him. Bath-chair sort of a chap--no fight in him at all. 'Mercy!' he cries. 'I can't,' says the husband. 'Forgive him this once,' says the wife. 'It's only once a woman loses herself,' says the man. 'Mercy, mercy!' 'Say your prayers.' 'Mercy, mercy, mercy!' 'Too late!' and the husband shot him dead. The woman dropped in a faint, but the man said, 'He didn't say his prayers, though--I must be doing it for him.' Then down he went on his knees by the body, but the prayers were all forgot at him--all but the bit of a grace, so he said that instead.” Loud breathings on every side followed Pete's story, and Cæsar, leaning over towards Philip, whose face had grown ashy, said, “Terrible, sir, terrible! But still and for all, right enough, though, eh! What's it saying, Better an enemy than a bad friend.” Philip answered absently; his eyes were on the opposite side of the table. There was a sudden rising of the people about Kate. “Water, there,” shouted Pete. “It's a thundering blockhead I am for sure--frightning the life out of people with stories fit for a funeral.” “No, no,” said Kate; “I'm not faint Why should you think so?” “Of coorse, not, bogh,” said Nancy, who was behind her in a twinkling. “White is she? Well, what of it, man? It's only becoming on a girl's wedding-day. Take a lil sup, though, woman--there, there!”