Cleena started back over the way they had come, and Mr. Kaye was following her, when he stumbled against something soft, and fell headlong in the mud; but he was up again in an instant, no worse for the accident save by the soil upon his clothing. He had grasped the thing over which he had tripped, and held it up to the candle-light. "Hello! Seems to me I've seen this garment, or felt it, before. That peculiarity of a cloth coat with a leather collar is noticeable. Whose is it, Cleena?" "Fetch it," she commanded tersely, and he obeyed her. Once in the better lighted kitchen she extinguished the candle, carefully closed all the doors, and seated herself near her visitor. She had taken the coat from him, and laid it upon her own knees. Her manner was still full of that mystery which consorted so oddly with her honest, open face. "I thought so. I thought so, so I did." "Very likely." "Cease yer haverin', lad. There's matter here." "Considerable. Upon my clothes, too. The matter seems to be of the same sort--rather brown and sticky, what the farmers call 'loom.'" "Know you whose coat this be?" "Never a know I know," he mimicked, enjoying his bit of nonsense with this old friend of his youth. "It's Fayetty's." "Your superior cellar digger? Whew!" He had now become quite as serious as she desired. "Cleena, this is a bad business. This coat was on the back of the man who horsewhipped Mr. Wingate." "I thought it; but, mind you, me lad, he's not for punishin'." "Hold on, he certainly _is_. Don't you know that I--I, a Kaye, am under suspicion of this dastardly thing? Of course you do. Well, then, I'm going to step out from under the suspicion with neatness and despatch. How long have you been hiding this, Cleena?" "The poor chap's been here ever since. Only once a day he slips out, but he's back by night. Oh, he's safe enough the now." "Glad of it. Like to have him handy; and as soon as you've finished what you have to say, I'll walk into the village and inform the sheriff, or somebody who should know." "You'll do naught like it." "Why, Cleena, woman, have you lost your good sense?" "Have I saved it, no? Hear me. I know 'twas me poor little Gineral Bonyparty 't did the deed. I knew, soon as I heard the tale o' the coat. You're no so stupid yerself. You recognized it immediate. It was a part o' his uniform he wore a-paradin'. His notion 'twould save the collar clean o' the jacket I fixed him. He's never no care in all his hard life till he met up with me. The poor little gossoon!" "Cleena, Cleena, turncoat! Wasn't I once, on a day gone by, another 'poor little gossoon'? But come, drop nonsense; it's a disgracefully serious business for me and for your whole family." "It's because o' the family I say it. The lad's for no punishin'. Not yet. You're big an' strong, an' uncommon light o' heart. It'll do ye no harm. The suspicioned you must be till--Wait lad. You loved the mistress, Salome?" "Why, Cleena, you know it!"