Ruth lingered, for she wanted to speak to the man alone; but her aunt hurried her away, and the last glimpse she had of him was standing in the doorway laughing in anything but a respectful manner. One would have thought that Miss Cass had burnt her fingers quite severely enough to avoid playing with fire. But such was not the case. Her curiosity was stronger than her prudence.. Besides, after the smile she had seen on Job's face she began to doubt her aunt's plausible explanation. Unfortunately, Mrs. Marshall escorted her niece right up to the gates of Hollyoaks Park. But she refused to go in. "I have left my carriage at the inn," she said, "and, as your uncle is not very well, I must go home at once. I hope you will come and see us soon, Ruth; you are neglecting me very much." "I will come with pleasure, aunt. Will next week do?" "Any week will do. I am always at home--except on an occasion like this, when I am employed in charitable works. I shall expect you next week." When her aunt had gone, Ruth waited until she was out of sight; then took a short cut across the meadows to the Turnpike House. Within the hour she again presented herself at the door. It was opened so suddenly that she felt sure that Job had been watching her; and his greeting proved that such was the case. "I expected you, sister," he said. "Come into my tent. Duvel! That a Romany should dwell under a roof-tree like a Gorgio." "It is better for your health than wandering about the roads," said the girl, sitting down. "I am dying," interrupted Job, quietly. "And I am not the man to decay like a tree. If I find that I can never recover, I will die after my own fashion. I am not afraid." Ruth did not know what reply to make to this: she glanced round hoping to find a fresh topic of conversation. "You are comfortable here; quite civilised. I am sure that you will get better now that you are so well housed!" "I do not think so, lady. But I yielded to Mrs. Marshall's request to take shelter here. One place is as good as another to die in; she is good to me; I have this house--and a little money to buy food." "Why is she so kind?" asked Ruth, sharply. "Such kindness is not in her nature. Have you done her a good turn?" "Perhaps I have; maybe I have not," Job said, coolly. "See here, sister, I knew you would come back to ask questions. I saw it in your eye; but I know when to keep my mouth shut." "You do--when it pays you. Well, I have no wish to pry into your secrets, Job. Keep your own counsel." "I intend to," replied the man. "And it is a good thing for your family that I do." "What do you mean?" "Nothing that I can tell you." "Job"--Ruth looked at him sharply--"are you hinting at any disgrace?" "No: what disgrace could befall so noble a family? I hold my tongue."