"’E seem rather cut up about it, not like ’e belong to be," commented Aunt Louisa. "Well, what can ’ee expect," said Mrs. Brenton, "only lostin’ ’is wife this mornin’? Can’t expect for’m to be bright and cheerful!" "I don’t expect anything," said the old woman, "still you can’t ’elp noticin’ things." *CHAPTER XVIII* As Leadville on his black stallion turned the corner below Church Town, he met the Wastralls wagon coming back from Stowe with a load of coal and oil. The sight of the teamster, leading his horse as it zigzagged across the sharp ascent, brought the other a sudden tingling realization of power. Yesterday Rosevear had been a hind on his wife’s farm and Byron, though ostensibly, blusteringly master, had not been able to dismiss him. Now, opportunity, spruce and debonair, was walking towards him up the wide curve of the road. Reining in his horse—a gift from Sabina, who liked him to be well mounted—he waited till Jim, this ’proper jump-the-country’ was abreast of him. "The missus is gone!" He was not thinking of Sabina but of the alteration in their relative position. Jim’s face had been as cheerful as his thoughts. Though in workaday clothes he wore them with a holiday air and had adorned his cap with the iridescent wing-feather of a drake. He was in pairing mood and had seen in Stowe ’a lickin’ great wardrobe’ that he would like for Gray ’if she’d a mind to’t.’ His nest-building thoughts were scattered by Byron’s untimely news and his face lengthened. "Gone?" he repeated. "’E don’t say so? Poor sawl! I’m awful sorry. Was it a fit or what was it?" Byron, impatient to assert himself, ignored the question. Sitting his horse with a touch of swagger he said truculently: "I’ll leave yer know I’m maister now." Jim believed that he had a reason to dislike the speaker and none whatever to avoid a quarrel. Better bad blood between them than that Byron, under the cloak of kinship, should be able to come worrying Gray. "Iss," he said, accepting the challenge, "missus is ’ardly cold, but still I s’pose you think you’m maister now." In Byron’s fierce eyes was the longing to begin the inevitable fight. The youth, blithe and with his handsome face upturned, was incarnate provocation. One hearty blow and Byron saw the contour of that admirable nose for ever changed. "When you finish up to-night you can come in," he growled, "and I’ll pay you your wages. I don’t want you ’ere, on the place, any longer." Jim did not seem impressed. "I can clear now if you like." It would serve the ’ole hunks’ right if he were left with the horse and wagon on his hands. "An’ if yer don’t want to ’av yer bones broken," continued the other, pausing on a darkling thought that the sea did not always give up its dead, "you’ll clear out of this part altogether." In Jim’s eyes was a little dancing light. "Shen’t clear out for the likes of you."