The unexpected was to Byron the threatening and the presence of the pipe disturbed his new serenity. His mind began to bubble with suspicion, with wild extravagant surmise. It did not occur to him that the purchase of the pipe was a sign of Sabina’s persistently kindly thought, a survival from the disowned discredited past. "She did?" he muttered, turning on it a look of mingled fear and aversion. "I didn’t know that. You don’t mean to say she put it there?" It was as if she had crept from her bed of death, had stolen in, shrouded but invisible and set the mysterious pipe where his hand would chance on it. Mrs. Tom, observant and wondering, filled the wooden wash-up bowl with water and set it on the table. "I dare say she did." "Did she put it there," he hesitated, calculating, "did she put it there, last night?" Last night when he was planning her death, had she too had her thoughts, her plans? It was a disconcerting, to a guilty man, even an alarming thought. "It don’t seem only last night, it seem ages since," said Mrs. Tom, beginning to wash the cloam. "We bought it into Stowe and gived it to S’bina and what she did with it then, I dunno. I s’pose she put it on the chimley-piece." It fell from his fingers and, hitting the steel fender, broke in two. "I won’t ’av it," he cried, violently. His face was grey. He was beside himself with superstitious dread. Sabina, who should have been dead, still lived. The old belief in her, as strong and incalculable, had revived. He was like one expecting a blow and not knowing from what quarter it would come. "I won’t ’av it, I don’t want’n. ’Ow do I know? It might be poisoned!" Mrs. Tom continued tranquilly to cleanse plates and dishes, but her mind was busy. "A pipe poisoned? Get away man, you’m mad. What do yer mean? Why, she bought it for a present for yer." Byron looked from the pipe to Mrs. Tom and a glimmer of common sense returned. He broke into an uneasy laugh. "Don’t know what’s come over me," he said, picking up the pieces. "I’m all twitchy to-night. I dunno what I’m sayin’. I’m carried off." "Want a good night’s rest," said she comfortably. "That’s what’s the matter with ’ee. I shall be finished in a minute, then you’ll be able to lock up after me and go away to bed." "Lock up after you?" "I’ll light the candles in S’bina’s room—they’re thick an’ long and I think they’ll burn all the night—and then I must be goin’ ’ome." "You bain’t goin’ ’ome to-night, be yer?" Fear, scarcely driven out, had returned. "Why, of course I be. Surely you bain’t afraid to stay ’ere? "Well—there’ll be no one in the ’ouse but me." "Why, S’bina won’t ’urt ’ee! Poor sawl, she’s gone past ’urtin’." He would be left alone with this strange incalculable Sabina who sprang surprises on him, from whom not even his most private belongings were safe and who had been wronged. The shadow of past horrors, the horrors of the preceding night, fell on him.