The shrewd fillip to her curiosity, which Luke’s reference to Lintot’s home-coming had given, allured Phyllis into accepting without protest his audacious invention about her father. The probability of such an occurrence seemed sealed with certainty, when turning, at a sign from her friend, she saw, against the lighted window the burly form of the landlord engaged in closing his shutters. It was not the custom, as Phyllis well knew, of this methodical dispenser of Dionysian joys to “shutter up house,” as he called it, until every guest had departed. How could she guess--little deluded maid!--that, stretched upon the floor in the front parlor, stared at by the landlord’s three small sons, was the comatose body of her worthy parent breathing like one of Mr. Goring’s pigs? “Tain’t no good my waiting here then,” she whispered. “What do ’ee mean by Sam Lintot’s being surprised-like? Be Ninsy taken with her heart again?” “Let me help you over here,” answered the stone-carver, “that Priory wench was talking, just now, just across yon wall. She’ll be hearing what we say if we don’t move on a bit.” “Us don’t mind what a maid like her do hear, do us, Luke dear?” whispered the girl in answer. “Give me a kiss, sonny, and let me be getting home-along!” She stood on tiptoe and raised her hands over the top of the wall. Luke seized her wrists, and retained them in a vicious clutch. “Put your foot into one of those holes,” he said, “and we’ll soon have you across.” Unwilling to risk a struggle in such a spot, and not really at all disinclined for an adventure, the girl obeyed him, and after being hoisted up upon the wall, was lifted quickly down on the other side, and enclosed in Luke’s gratified arms. The amorous stone-carver remembered long afterwards the peculiar thrill of almost chaste pleasure which the first touch of her cold cheeks gave him, as she yielded to his embrace. “_Is_ Nin Lintot bad again?” she enquired, drawing herself away at last. Luke nodded. “You won’t see her about, this week--or next week--or the week after,” he said. “She’s pretty far gone, this time, I’m afraid.” Phyllis rendered to her acquaintance’s misfortune the tribute of a conventional murmur. “Oh, let’s go and look at where they be burying Jimmy Pringle!” she suddenly whispered, in an awe-struck, excited tone. “What!” cried Luke, “you don’t mean to say he’s dead,--the old man?” “Where’s ’t been to, then, these last days?” she enquired. “He died yesterday morning and they be going to bury him on Monday. ’Twill be a monstrous large funeral. Can’t be but you’ve heard tell of Jimmy’s being done for.” She added, in an amazed and bewildered tone. “I’ve been very busy this last week,” said Luke. “You didn’t seem very busy this afternoon, when you were with Annie and me up at station-field,” she exclaimed, with a mischievous little laugh. Then in a changed voice, “Let’s go and see where they’re going to put him. It’s somewhere over there, under South Wall.”