In the home atmosphere—the atmosphere created by her return—Mrs. Tom was able to dismiss the dim but ugly suspicions Leadville’s manner had engendered and take a simple, more prosaic view of his state. The man was, as he had said, ’carried off’ and the strangeness of his looks and words were due in all probability to the shock he had received. He had not loved Sabina but, to lose her thus suddenly, had unnerved him. Let him have a good night’s rest and he would be his usual brusque and sombre self. She turned from the thought of him to give her attentive hearers a recital of the day’s events. They would like to know who had called and what had been said, would like to take part at second hand in the stir caused by Sabina’s death. Tom had a further interest. His mind had grasp. Unable to originate, he could adapt and improve, and he was anxious to hear what arrangements were being made for the funeral. "I think," said Mrs. Tom, at last, and there was a question, perhaps even a glint of unkindly hope in her tone, "I think Leadville, poor old chap, want for me to sleep down there to-night for company. What d’yer think about it, Tom?" Rumblingly, out of the depths, came his considered fiat. "I don’t see why you can’t." "No—o." "The maidens ’ere," he glanced at his pretty daughters, "the maidens ’ere are big enough to look after the childer and me. I don’t think I should care to be left by meself if I was in ’is place." "I don’t s’pose you would." And with the ghost of a sigh she got up. "Well, to-morrow I shall make arrangements with Mrs. Bate. Might ’ave done it to-day, but I forgot. Now I’ll go. ’Tis no good putting off the evil hour; still, you do all seem pretty and comfortable in here." Never had the little room, the close quarters, seemed so attractive; and Tom too, looking round, found his discontent had evaporated. It was a jolly snug little place, so it was. He went with her to the door and they found that, between scudding clouds, the moon was showing a bright face. The lane lay white between the stone hedges with their crown of tamarisk and, at its foot, the Trevorrick River ran with faint occasional sparkle across the sands. Mrs. Tom had warmed her heart at the domestic fire. What was one night away? She could look back at Tom, standing on the doorstep, and send him an affectionate good night. After all, in keeping Leadville company, she was doing what Sabina would have wished.