The hour was one of conflicting feelings, as numerous as the stones in Trevorrick River which, in summer, is all stones and in winter brings down yet more of them. Behind Gray stood Jim Rosevear and Byron turned on him the old lowering scowl. There was a score to settle! The dark colour purpled in his swarthy cheek but, though he clenched his fists, it was in order to keep the peace, not break it. The insult conveyed by Jim’s accompanying Gray in the sight of everybody could not be immediately avenged. "My ’ands is tied," he thought, "and ’e knaws ’e can come ’ere to-day. Wants a lesson, that one do." "The bearers are in the kitchen," he said, pitching his voice on a loud note and pointing to the passage. If he could he would humiliate Jim, show the countryside this was a labourer who had come to the wrong door, who had not come as a mourner but for his half-crown, his meal, his pair of black gloves. But in Rosevear he had met his match. "I’m ’ere as a mourner, not a bearer." "Iss, my dear!" began Mrs. Andrew in a softly flowing voice and launched herself on a vague explanation in which the words ’Rosevear of Treketh and Dusha Rosevear who you know married Freathy Rosevear’ and ’sister of Cap’n Josiah Rosevear of Fraddon,’ occurred. Byron knew little about the ramifications of his wife’s family but, remembering Jim was a Rosevear, came to the conclusion he must be some sort of cousin. "Mourner?" he said but less confidently, "well——" For all his wrath he must go gently. If he insulted Jim, if he uttered the words in his mind, "Well, relation or no, get out of my sight," he would offend Mrs. Andrew and who knew how many more. Mrs. Tom, having disengaged herself from the Sowdens, came to the rescue. She had had no suspicion that Jim would stand on his rights and come to the funeral. These young people, the folly of them! "Why, Gray, my dear, I’ve been expectin’ you this long time. I’m so glad you’re ’ere," and, placing herself between man and maid, she walked away with them. When they reached the Big Parlour, however, she turned on the young man. "You ought not to ’ave come." In Jim’s eye was a dancing light. "Why couldn’t I come? I ’bain’t afraid of’n!" "No," she retorted, "but this ’edn’t a time for stirrin’ up strife. You knaw ’e won’t touch yer to-day." "I’ll give ’im the chance when they’m all gone if ’e like." "Don’t ’ee talk so fulish," and she thought with satisfaction that the young people would soon be on the road to Plymouth, out of harm’s way. "You must think of Gray now. You men are so pig-’eaded as a cock in a fowls’ pen." Gray, who had fallen behind her mother, came up. "You can settle with Uncle Leadville when we’re back home," she said, with a little air of matronly authority which sat sweetly on her young face and which changed to a softer emotion the challenge in Jim’s eyes. "Must I now?" he said, bending over her. "I don’t want to go to Plymouth with no black eyes then," she answered poutingly.