"No, sir, but he respects you, and he might perhaps pay attention to what you said." "Maybe," said the artist, thoughtfully. "Well, I will see what I can do." "Thank you, sir--thank you!" "When did you see him last?" "It's two days ago now, sir." "Well, Mrs Drinkwater, we must hope for the best. I have always found your husband willing and obliging up to quite recently. It seems to me that if matters are put to him in a quiet common-sense way he will listen. Hang it all, he will have to listen! We can't have you crying your eyes out because he chooses to behave like a brute to you." "Oh, my Jem really means well, sir," said the woman; "I know he does. He has always been a good husband to me." Late that evening the artist thought over affairs. It was a pleasant soft summer night, and when he was alone he quietly opened the cottage door, and lighting his pipe, sat down on the little rustic seat which was just outside. There was hardly a sound--nothing but the night wind sweeping through the valley, the far-off plash of water, the purring noise of a big moth as it flew past and then hovered a second, attracted by the gleam of the artist's pipe. There was a step, loud and heavy, and Manners started to his feet as a burly figure suddenly appeared just in front of him. "Hallo, Drinkwater!" he cried. "You, my man?" "Me it is, Mr Manners." "Oh, that's all right. I was wanting to see you." "Wanting to see me? What for?" said the man, gruffly. "Oh, for several reasons. I don't like my landlord to go off for days together, nobody knows where." "Not wanted now," said the man, sourly--"Nobody wants me now." "That's not a fact, Drinkwater," said the artist, firmly. "Not a bit true. To begin with, I want you." "Pictures to see too?" "No, not pictures. I just want to talk to you; that's all. Have you got your pipe? Oh, I see you have. Here's my pouch. Come, fill and light up, and sit down here. It's a lovely night, isn't it?" "Humph!" grunted the man, as he obeyed and began to smoke. "Now," said the artist, cheerily, after a few minutes' silence, "what's wrong with you? At least, I need not ask that. You have quarrelled with your old friend and employer, for no reason, and it's no end of a pity, I can assure you. You will not mind my speaking out plainly like this, as man to man, for I have known you a long time now; and besides, I'm under a debt to you for helping me that night." "Humph!" said the man again. "Now," said the artist, "has all this sulking done you any good?" "Good!" growled the man. "Good! No. There has been no good in my life. I have slaved it all away for a thankless taskmaster." "Bah!" said the artist, with a laugh. "Mr Willows a taskmaster! Why, it's too absurd! He's one of the very best men that ever lived; and in your heart of hearts you know it, Drinkwater. You know it quite well." "I want revenge," said the man.