"No, I won't want you," rejoined Haskins, secretly disgusted at the fellow for using the cloak of religion to mask his Pixy's House visit. "I shall go to bed early." "T'ank you, sah," and Geary departed. Later, while Gerald at the window sipped his coffee, he saw the big negro walking up the hill which led on to the moors. For the moment it flashed across the young man that Geary might go to Mother Carey's Peace Pool by taking the down path, and there might discover the canoe. But on second thoughts he dismissed his reflection. Geary, being quite ignorant of Haskins' knowledge, had no reason to seek the pool, and so the canoe would be left undisturbed in the undergrowth. Haskins had really intended to retire early, but, unable to rest quietly, he strolled out of the inn and on to the bridge. No one lingered there now, as the early birds of Denleigh had gone to roost. He had the Rialto of the village all to himself, as he thought, until he became aware that Mrs. Geary, with a blue shawl over her head, was leaning against the parapet. Wondering if he could learn anything about Adonis from his usually silent wife, Gerald moved alongside. "A penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Geary," he said cheerfully. Mrs. Geary turned, and in the moonlight he saw that she was crying. "My thoughts have to do with funerals, sir," she said, in a heavy voice, but with a much less use of the Devonshire dialect than he would have expected from a Barnstaple woman. "With funerals?" "I was thinking," said Mrs. Geary, looking at the water flowing under the bridge, "if it wouldn't be best for me to throw myself into yon stream." "Why on earth should you do that?" asked Haskins blankly. And it was then that he became conscious that she had been drinking, for she swayed against the stonework. Perhaps it was the drink which made her talk more than usual, added to the absence of her husband, but she certainly spoke very freely, and told him much that he wished to know. "Why should I wish to do that, sir?" she repeated scornfully--"because I am the most miserable woman on God's green earth." "Oh, surely not, Mrs. Geary. You have a good home, healthy children, and a capital husband." Again she laughed scornfully. "A capital husband, when it suits him. Oh, you don't know what Geary is, Mr. Haskins. His soul is as black as his face, and that is saying a lot." "I wondered why you married a negro," commented Haskins, leaning over the bridge, and leading her to confide in him. "I married him because I was a greedy fool, sir. I was a housemaid, or at least a general servant, under Bellaria at the Pixy's House." Gerald caught his breath. "That is where the mad girl lives, according to your husband." "Mad? She's less mad than I am, sir. A poor, pretty, sweet young lady, who is kept a fast prisoner by Major Rebb." "Why is she kept prisoner?"