With the assistance of the "cook-general" she made the beds, and dusted the rooms, and laid the table. Then she took a book and sat down in the drawing-room to read. But her thoughts would not follow her page. They drifted back to Jabez. Where was he now she wondered? What had become of him? It was two whole years since she had seen him. There was a ring at the bell, and the "cook-general" entered with a card held between a floury thumb and a buttery forefinger. Miriam looked at the card. "Mr. Maxwell." She did not know the name. She wondered who it could be. Probably some friend of Gerald's. "Show Mr. Maxwell in, Jane." A tall man in a frock-coat, with a flower in his button-hole, and the most shiny of silk hats in his hand, stood in the door. She stepped forward to meet him, and recoiled, pale to the lips. "Jabez!" she gasped. "You here!" CHAPTER II. JABEZ REDIVIVUS. It was Jabez. The prodigal had returned, though by no means in the rags of his Biblical prototype. Rather was he like the rich man in the parable--clothed in purple and fine linen. In modern parlance there was about him the look of a man with a balance at his bank. A vastly different person from the scarecrow who had met Miriam under the wall of Lesser Thorpe church. "Jabez," she repeated--her voice was hoarse and low--"what are you doing here?" "Not much yet; thought I just drop in and look you up, dear," replied the man, tossing his hat and gloves on to the sofa and making himself comfortable. "You don't seem overjoyed to see me though." "No, I am not. Can you expect me to be? I thought you had passed out of my life for ever. How did you find me out here?" "Shorty! There you have it. I looked in at the old shop where Mother M. still hangs out, and sure enough there the rascal was." "And how did Shorty know?" "Ah, that's more than I can tell you. You'd better ask him if you're curious on the point. For some reason of his own--and you may bet your bottom dollar it's a good one--he seems to have been keeping his wicked eye on you and your husband ever since you joined forces. It was Shorty told me you were married." He looked round the little room with a sneer which well became his Mephistophelian countenance. "But I say, Miriam, I should have thought you might have done a bit better than this! West Kensington, and cheap at that, isn't it?" "I must ask you if you have anything of importance to say, Jabez, to say it and go. My husband will be home directly. He must not find you here." "And why not, pray? You can introduce me as your old friend, Harry Maxwell--that's my name now. Thank the Lord Jabez is dead and buried for ever." "You think so?" said Miriam, with a searching look and dropping her voice. "I should not advise you to be too sure about that. There is always the possibility of his being dug up, and then all the fine clothes in the world won't disguise him." The man drew his hand across his throat with a significant expression.