"Then didst a nivver hear it said, 'He that talks to himsel' clatters to a fool'?"

The company laughed.

"No," resumed Matthew, turning to the schoolmaster, "Ralph will nivver tryste with the la.s.s of yon hang-gallows of a tailor. The gallows rope's all but roond his neck already. It's awesome to see him in his barramouth in the fell side. He's dwinnelt away to a atomy.

"It baffles me where he got the bra.s.s frae to pay his rent," said one of the shepherds. "Where did he get it, schoolmaster?"

Monsey answered nothing. The topic was evidently a fearsome thing to him. His quips and cracks were already gone.

"Where did he get it, _I_ say?" repeated the man; with the air of one who was propounding a trying problem.

Old Matthew removed his pipe.

"A fool may ask mair questions ner a doctor can answer."

The shepherd shifted in his seat.

"That Wilson was na shaks nowther," continued Matthew quietly. "He was accustomed to 'tummel' his neighbors, and never paused to inquire into their bruises. He'd olas the black dog on his back--leastways latterly. Ey, the braizzant taistrel med have done something for Ralph an he lived langer. He was swearing what he'd do, the ungratefu' fool; auld Wilson was a beadless body."

"They say he threatened Ralph's father, Angus," said Monsey, with a perceptible shiver.

"Ay, but Angus is bad to bang. I mind his dingin' ower a bull on its back. A girt man, Angus, and varra dreadfu' when he's angert."

"Dus'ta mind the fratch thoo telt me aboot atween Angus and auld Wilson?" said Reuben Thwaite to Matthew Branthwaite.

"What quarrel was that?" asked Monsey.

"Why, the last fratch of all, when Wilson gat the sneck posset frae Shoulthwaite," said Matthew.

"I never heard of it," said the schoolmaster.

"There's nowt much to hear. Ralph and mysel' we were walking up to the Moss together ya day, when we heard Angus and Wilson at a bout of words. Wilson he said to Angus with a gay, bitter sneer, 'Ye'll fain swappit wi' me yet,' said he. 'He'll yoke wi' an unco weird. Thy braw chiel 'ul tryste wi' th' hangman soon, I wat.' And Angus he was fair mad, I can tell ye, and he said to Wilson, 'Thoo stammerin' and yammerin' taistrel, thoo; I'll pluck a lock of thy threep. Bring the warrant, wilt thoo? Thoo savvorless and sodden clod-heed! I'll whip thee with the taws. Slipe, I say, while thoo's weel--slipe!'"

"And Angus would have done it, too, and not the first time nowther,"

said little Reuben, with a knowing shake of the head.

"Well, Matthew, what then?" said Monsey.

"Weel, with that Angus he lifted up his staff, and Wilson shrieked oot afore he gat the blow. But Angus lowered his hand and said to him, says he, 'Time eneuf to shriek when ye're strucken.'"

"And when the auld one did get strucken, he could not shriek," added Reuben.

"We know nowt of that reetly," said Matthew, "and maybe nivver will."

"What was that about a warrant?" said Monsey.

"Nay, nay, laal man, that's mair ner ony on us knows for certain."

"But ye have a notion on it, have ye not?" said Reuben, with a twinkle which was intended to flatter Matthew into a communicative spirit.

"I reckon I hev," said the weaver, with a look of self-satisfaction.

"Did Ralph understand it?" asked Monsey.

"Not he, schoolmaister. If he did, I could mak' nowt on him, for I asked him theer and then."

"But ye knows yersel' what the warrant meant, don't ye?" said Reuben significantly.

"Weel, man, it's all as I telt ye; the country's going to the dogs, and young Charles he's cutting the heed off nigh a'most iv'ry man as fought for Oliver agen him. And it's as I telt ye aboot the spies of the government, there's a spy ivrywhear--maybe theer's yan here now--and auld Wilson he was nowt ner mair ner less ner a spy, and he meant to get a warrant for Ralph Ray, and that's the lang and short on it."

"I reckon Sim made _the_ short on it," said Reuben with a smirk. "He scarce knew what a good turn he was doing for young Ralph yon neet in Martinmas."

"But don't they say Ralph saved Wilson's life away at the wars?" said Monsey. "Why could he want to inform against him and have him hanged?"

"A dog winnet yowl an ye hit him with a bone, but a spy is worse ner ony dog," answered Matthew sententiously.

"But _why_ could he wish to do it?"

"His fratch with Angus, that was all."

"There must have been more than that, Matthew, there must."

"I never heeard on it, then."

"Old Wilson must have had money on him that night," said Monsey, who had been looking gravely into the fire, his hands clasped about his knees. Encouraged by this support of the sapient idea he had hinted at, the shepherd who had spoken before broke in with, "Where else did he get it _I_ say?"

"Ye breed of the cuckoo," said Matthew, "ye've gat no rhyme but yan."

Amid the derisive laughter that followed, the door of the inn was again opened, and in a moment more Ralph Ray stood in the middle of the floor with Simeon Stagg in his arms. Rotha was behind, pale but composed. Every man in the room rose to his feet. The landlord stepped forward, with no pleasant expression on his face; and from an inner room his wife came bustling up. Little Monsey stood clutching and twitching his fingers. Old Matthew had let the pipe drop out of his mouth, and it lay broken on the hearth.

"He has fainted," said Ralph, still holding his burden; "turn that bench to the fire."

No one stirred. Every one stood for the moment as if stupefied. Sim's head hung over Ralph's arm: his face was as pale as death.

"Out of the way," said Ralph, brushing past a great lumbering fellow, with his mouth agape.

The company found their tongues at last. Were they to sit with "this hang-gallows of a tailor"? The landlord, thinking himself appealed to, replied that he "couldn't hev na brulliment" in his house.

"There need be no broil," said Ralph, laying the insensible form on a seat and proceeding to strip off the wet outer garments. Then turning to the hostess, he said,--

"Martha, bring me water, quick."

Martha turned about and obeyed him without a word.

"He'll be better soon," said Ralph to Robbie Anderson. He was sprinkling water on the white face that lay before him. Robbie had recovered his wakefulness, and was kneeling at Sim's feet, chafing his hands.

Rotha stood at her father's side, motionless.

"There, he's coming to. Martha," said Ralph, "hadn't you better take Rotha to the kitchen fire?"