'I really do not require you,' said Mrs. Warne. 'I am sorry for your misfortunes, but I cannot help. You do not belong to this parish.' 'And are love and mercy never to travel beyond parish bounds?' asked the woman, with her vehemence again breaking out. 'Is the tide of charity to flow on one side of the hedge and not on the other? Is the dew of heaven to moisten the wool on the fleece of the parish sheep only?' 'Jane, be reasonable. Our duties are limited by the parish boundaries, but not our charity.' 'Then extend some charity to Winefred and me, not alms, mind you, only consideration.' 'Charity must be governed by circumstances,' said Mrs. Warne. 'Oh, yes,' retorted Jane scornfully. 'It is like a canal, so much of it let out through the sluices as the dock-keeper thinks well.' 'If you will be patient,' said the hostess, a woman rubicund, plump and good-humoured, at the moment impatient to be back with the commercials, especially with one who had an engaging eye and tongue. 'If you will be patient, I will tell you how I can oblige you. I do not mind taking on Winefred.' 'But Tom Man, your ostler, is dead.' 'Well, but I must have a man in the stables, not a woman.' 'No,' said Mrs. Marley, 'I will not leave the child unprotected in a public-house. See me, I have neither father, nor mother――no relation of any sort. What my story is, that concerns none but myself; but, such as it is, it has made me alone, with only my child to love. All the love you have to your mother and sisters and brothers and cousins, that with me is gathered into one great love for the one child I have. Where she is, there am I. She is a handsome girl, blooming as a rose. No, I will not let her be seen in a tavern, unless I be near also to watch over her against your leering bagmen.' Mrs. Warne bridled up. 'Bagmen, indeed! Tut, woman, surely you may trust me?' 'I can trust none. You are not her mother. You must take us both.' 'I cannot receive you both. I have made you a fair offer. If you will not accept, go over the river to your own parish.' Then Mrs. Warne retreated into the bar, shut the door, drew down the window, and went to the fire and the commercials. Jane Marley left the Red Lion. The cloud darkened on her brow. She said no word to her daughter, but directed her way up the street to a small shop, in which already a light was burning. In the greensand beds about Seaton, or rather on the beach, washed from them, are found chalcedonies, green and yellow, red jasper, and moss agates, also brown petrified wood that takes a high polish. There was a little dealer in these at Seaton, an old man who polished and set them, and sold them as memorials to visitors coming there for sea-bathing and air. To this man, Thomas Gasset by name, the distressed woman betook herself. He was sitting at his work-table, with a huge pair of spectacles in horn rims over his nose, engaged in mounting a chalcedony as a seal. He looked up.