"All right, Mrs. Costrell," said Saunders, briskly--"all right. We'll be down directly."

She came back into the kitchen, a mist before her eyes, and fell heavily on a chair by the fire. Mary Anne approached her, only to be pushed back. The widow stood listening, in an agony.

It took Saunders a minute or two to complete his case. Then he slowly descended the stairs, carrying the box, his great weight making the house shake. He entered the kitchen first, John behind him. But at the same moment that they appeared the outer door opened, and Isaac Costrell, preceded by a gust of snow, stood on the threshold.

"Why, John!" he cried, in amazement--"an' _Saunders_!"

He looked at them, then at Mary Anne, then at his wife.

There was an instant's dead silence. Then the tottering John came forward.

"An' I'm glad yer come, Isaac, that I am--thankful! Now yer can tell me what yer wife's done with my money. D'yer mind that box? It wor you an' I carried it across that night as Watson come out on us. An'

yo'll bear me witness as we locked it up, an' yo' saw me tie the two keys roun' my neck--yo' _did_, Isaac. An' now, Isaac,"--the hoa.r.s.e voice began to tremble--"now there's two--suverins--left, and one 'arf-crown--out o' seventy-one pound fower an' sixpence--seventy-one pound, Isaac! Yo'll get it out on 'er, Isaac, yer will, won't yer?"

He looked up, imploring.

Isaac, after the first violent start, stood absolutely motionless, Saunders observing him. As one of the main props of Church Establishment in the village, Saunders had no great opinion of Isaac Costrell, who stood for the dissidence of dissent. The two men had never been friends, and Saunders, in this affair, had, perhaps, exercised the quasi-judicial functions the village had long, by common consent, allowed him, with more readiness than usual.

As soon as John ceased speaking Isaac walked up to Saunders.

"Let me see that box," he said peremptorily. "Put it down."

Saunders, who had rested the box on the back of a chair, placed it gently on the table, a.s.sisted by Isaac. A few feet away stood Bessie, saying nothing, her hand holding the duster on her hip, her eyes following her husband.

He looked carefully at the two sovereigns lying on the bit of old cloth which covered the bottom of the box, and the one half-crown that Timothy had forgotten; he took up the bit of cloth and shook it, he felt along the edge of the box, he examined the wrenched lock.

Then he stood for an instant, his hand on the box, his eyes staring straight before him in a kind of dream.

Saunders grew impatient. He pushed John aside, and came to the table, leaning his hands upon it so as to command Isaac's face.

"Now look 'ere, Isaac," he said, in a different voice from any that he had yet employed, "let's come to business. These 'ere are the facks o'

this case, and 'ow we're agoin' to get over 'em I don't see. John leaves his money in your cupboard. Yo' an' he lock it up, an' John goes away with 'is keys 'ung roun' 'is neck. Yo' agree to that? Well an' good. But there's _another_ key in your 'ouse, Isaac, as opens John's cupboard. Ah----"

He waved his hand in deprecation of Isaac's movement.

"I dessay yo' didn't know nowt about it--that's noather 'ere nor there.

Yo' try John's key in that there door"--he pointed to the cupboard by the fire--"an' yo'll find it fits _ex_--act. Then, thinks I, where's the key as belongs to that 'ere cupboard? An' John an' I goes upstairs to look about us, an' in noa time at aw, I sees a 'ole in the skirtin'.

I whips in my finger--lor' bless yer! I knew it wor there the moment I sets eyes on the hole."

He held up the key triumphantly. By this time, no Old Bailey lawyer making a hanging speech could have had more command of his task.

"'Ere then we 'ave"--he checked the items off on his fingers--"box locked up--key in the 'ouse as fits it, unbeknown to John--money tuk out--key 'idden away. But that's not all--not by long chalks--there's another side to the affair _hal_together."

Saunders drew himself up, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and cleared his throat.

"Perhaps yer don' know--I'm sartin sure yer don' know--leastways I'm hinclined that way,--as Mrs. Costrell"--he made a polite inclination towards Bessie--"'ave been makin' free with money--fower--five--night a week at the Spotted Deer--fower--five--night a week. She'd used to treat every young feller, an' plenty old 'uns too, as turned up; an'

there was a many as only went to Dawson's becos they knew as she'd treat 'em. Now, she didn't go on tick at Dawson's; she'd _pay_,--an'

she allus payed in 'arf-crowns. An' those 'arf-crowns were curious 'arf-crowns; an' it came into Dawson's 'ead as he'd colleck them 'arf-crowns. 'Ee wanted to see summat, 'ee said--an' I dessay 'ee did.

An' people began to taak. Last night theer wor a bit of a roompus, it seems, while Mrs. Costrell was a-payin' another o' them things, an'

summat as was said come to my ears--an' come to Watson's. An' me an'

Watson 'ave been makin' inquiries--an' Mr. Dawson wor obligin' enough to make me a small loan, 'ee wor. Now, I've got just one question to ask o' John Borroful."

He put his hand into his waistcoat pocket, and drew out a silver coin.

"Is that yourn, John?"

John fell upon it with a cry.

"Aye, Saunders, it's mine. Look ye 'ere, Isaac, it's a king's 'ead.

It's Willum--not Victory. I saved that 'un up when I wor a lad at Mason's--an' look yer, there's my mark in the corner--every 'arf-crown I ever 'ad I marked like that."

He held it under Isaac's staring eyes, pointing to the little scratched cross in the corner.

"'Ere's another, John--two on 'em," said Saunders, pulling out a second and a third.

John, in a pa.s.sion of hope, identified them both.

"Then," said Saunders, slapping the table solemnly, "theer's n.o.bbut one more thing to say--an' sorry I am to say it. Them coins, Isaac"--he pointed a slow finger at Bessie, whose white, fierce face moved involuntarily--"them 'arf-crowns wor paid across the bar la.s.st night, or the night afore, at Dawson's, by _yor wife_, as is now stannin'

there, an' she'll deny it if she can!"

For an instant the whole group preserved their positions--the breath suspended on their lips.

Then Isaac strode up to his wife, and gripped her by the arms.

"Did yer do it?" he asked her.

He held her, looking into her eyes. Slowly she sank away from him; she would have fallen, but for a chair that stood beside her.

"Oh, yer brute!" she said, turning her head to Saunders an instant, and speaking under her breath, with a kind of sob. "Yer _brute_!"

Isaac walked to the door, and threw it open.

"Per'aps yer'll go," he said grimly.

And the three went, without a word.

SCENE V

So the husband and wife were left together in the cottage room. The door had no sooner closed on Saunders and his companions than Isaac was seized with that strange sense of walking amid things unreal upon a wavering earth which is apt to beset the man who has any portion of the dreamer's temperament under any sudden rush of circ.u.mstance. He drew his hand across his brow, bewildered. The fire leapt and chattered in the grate; the newly-washed tea-things on the table shone under the lamp; the cat lay curled, as usual, on the chair where he sat after supper to read his _Christian World_; yet all things were not the same.

What had changed?

Then, across poor John's rifled box, he saw his wife sitting rigid on the chair where he had left her.

He came and sat down at the corner of the table, close to her, his chin on his hand.

"'Ow did yer spend it?" he said, startled, as the words came out, by his own voice, so grinding and ugly was the note of it.