"No, indeed I don't, so I tell you. I don't mean to be tied up to any woman's apron-string till I have had my fling. There, good night; I'm going to bed." Mrs Glaire made an effort to stay him, but he brushed by her, turned at the door, said, "Good night," and was gone. As the door closed, Mrs Glaire sank into the chair her son had so lately occupied, and sat thinking over their conversation. Would he keep his word? Would he keep his word? That was the question that repeated itself again and again, and the poor woman brought forward all her faith to force herself to believe in her son's sense of honour and truth, smiling at last with a kind of pride at the victory she had won. But as she smiled, lighting her candle the while, and then extinguishing the lamp, a shiver of dread passed through her at the recollection of the events of the day; and at last, when she passed from the room a heavy shadow seemed to follow her. It was the shadow of herself cast by the light she carried, but it seemed to her like the shadow of some coming evil, and as she went upstairs and passed her son's door, from beneath which came the odour of tobacco, she sighed bitterly, and went on wondering how it would end, for she had not much faith in his promise. Volume 1, Chapter XII. MORE TROUBLE AT THE WORKS. "I shall have to do something about these people," said the vicar, as he descended, after making a hasty toilet. His way out lay through the room appropriated by the objects of his thoughts, and on opening the door it was to find Mr Simeon Slee's toilet still in progress. In fact, that gentleman was seated in a chair, holding a tin bowl of water, and his wife was washing his face for him, as if he were a child. They took no notice of the interruption, and the vicar passed through, intending to take a long walk, but he checked his steps at the gate, where he stood looking down the long street, that seemed a little brighter in the early morning. He had not been there five minutes before he saw a sodden-looking man come out of the large inn--the Bull and Cucumber--and as the pale, sodden-looking man involuntarily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the vicar nodded. "Morning drain, eh? I'm afraid yours is not a very comfortable home, my friend." The man was going slowly down the street when his eye caught the figure of the vicar, and he immediately turned and came towards him, and touched his hat. "Mr Selwood, sir?" "That is my name, my man." "I'm Budd, sir--J. Budd--the clerk, sir. Thowt I'd come and ask if you'd like the garden done, sir. I'm _the_ gardener here, sir. Four days a week at Mr Glaire's. Your garden, sir--" "Would have looked better, Budd, if, out of respect to the church and the new vicar, you had kept it in order." "Yes, sir; exackly, sir; but I was too busy, sir. Shall I come, sir?" "Yes, you may come, Budd. By the way, do you always have a glass before breakfast?" "Beg pardon, sir--a glass?" "Yes, at the Bull?"