"Soft wax, to mould to any shape," said Hallam to himself. Then aloud: "I don't see anything to be ashamed of in a little natural emotion. There, sit down, and let's have a chat." Crellock caught his hand and gripped it hard. "Thank ye, Hallam," he said huskily, "thank ye; I shan't forget this. I told you I'd always felt as if I was your dog. I feel so more than ever now." "They're sitting a long time," said Mrs Pinet, as she raked out the kitchen fire to the very last red-hot cinder. "Mr Hallam seemed quite pleased with him; he's altered so for the better. He said I needn't sit up, and so I will go to bed." Mrs Pinet sought her room, and about twelve heard the door close on the stranger, between whom and Hallam a good deal of eager conversation had passed in a low tone. "You see I'm trusting you," said Hallam as they parted. "You know you can," was the reply. "And now, look here, if anything goes wrong--" "I tell you, if you do as I have arranged, nothing can go wrong. I want an agent in London, whom I can implicitly trust, and I am going to trust you. Once more, your task is to do exactly what I tell you." "But if anything goes wrong, I can't write to you." "Nothing can go wrong, I tell you." "Yes," said Crellock to himself, "you told me that once before." Then aloud: "Well, we will say nothing can go wrong, for I shall do exactly what you have said; but if anything should, I shall come down, and if you see me--look out." VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER FOURTEEN. LIKE GATHERING CLOUDS. There is one very pleasant element in country-town life, and that is the breadth of the feeling known as neighbourly. It is often veined by scandal, disfigured by petty curiosity, but a genial feeling, like a solid stratum underlies it all, and makes it firm. Mrs White gets into difficulties, and her furniture is sold by auction; but the neighbours flock to the sale, and the love of bargains is so overridden that the old things often fetch as much as new. Mrs Black's family are ill, and every one around takes a real and helpful interest. Mrs Scarlet's husband dies, and a fancy fair is held on her behalf. Then how every one collects at the marriage: how all follow at the death! It must be something very bad indeed that has been committed if, after the customary unpleasant and censorious remarks about walking blindfold into such a slough, Green is not drawn out by helping hands--in fact, there is a kind of clannishness in a country-town, disfigured by the gossips, but very true and earnest all the same.