Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Volume 26, September, 1880

CHAPTER XXVIII

Wornout and tired as she felt when she went up stairs, Eve's mind was so excited by the day's adventures that she found it impossible to lull her sharpened senses into anything like repose, and after hearing Joan come in she lay tossing and restless, wondering why it was she did not come up, and what could possibly be the cause of her stopping so long below.

As time went on her impatience grew into anxiety, which in its turn became suspicion, until, unable longer to restrain herself, she got up, and, after listening with some evident surprise at the stair-head, cautiously stole down the stairs and peeped, through the chink left by the ill-fitting hinge of the door, into the room.

"There isn't another woman in the whole world I'd trust with the things I'd trust you with, Joan," Adam was saying. Eve bent a trifle farther forward. "You've done me more good than anything I've had to-day. I feel ever so much better now than I did before."

An involuntary movement, giving a different balance to her position, made the stairs creak, and to avoid detection Eve had to make a hasty retreat and hurry back, so that when Joan came up stairs it was to find her apparently in such a profound sleep that there was little reason to fear any sound she might make would arouse her; but long after Joan had sunk to rest, and even Adam had forgotten his troubles and anxieties, Eve nourished and fed the canker of jealousy which had crept into her heart—a jealousy not directed toward Joan, but turned upon Adam for recalling to her mind that old grievance of not giving her his full trust.

At another time these speeches would not have come with half the importance: it would have been merely a vexation which a few sharp words would have exploded and put an end to. But now, combined with the untoward circumstances of situation—for Eve could not confess herself a listener—was the fact that her nerves, her senses and her conscience seemed strained to a point which made each feather-weight appear a burden.

Filled with that smart of wounded love whose sweetest balm revenge seems to supply, Eve lay awake until the gray light of day had filled the room, and then, from sheer exhaustion, she fell into a doze which gradually deepened into a heavy sleep, so that when she again opened her eyes the sun was shining full and strong.

Starting up, she looked round for Joan, but Joan had been up for a couple of hours and more. She had arisen very stealthily, creeping about with the hope that Eve would not be disturbed by her movements, for Adam's great desire was that Eve's feelings should be in no way outraged by discovering either in Uncle Zebedee or in Jerrem traces of the previous night's debauch; and this, by Joan's help, was managed so well that when Eve made her appearance she was told that Uncle Zebedee, tired like herself, was not yet awake, while Jerrem, brisked up by several nips of raw spirit, was lounging about in a state of lassitude and depression which might very well be attributed to reaction and fatigue.

Perhaps if Eve could have known that Adam was not present she would have toned down the amount of cordiality she threw into her greeting of Jerrem—a greeting he accepted with such a happy adjustment of pleasure and gratitude that to have shown a difference on the score of Adam's absence would have been to step back into their former unpleasant footing.

"Adam's gone out," said Jerrem in answer to the inquiring look Eve was sending round the kitchen.

"Oh, I wasn't looking for Adam," said Eve, while the rush of vexed color denied the assertion: "I was wondering where Joan could be."

"She was in here a minute ago," said Jerrem, "telling me 'twas a shame to be idlin' about so."

"Why, are you still busy?" said Eve.

"No, nothin' to speak of but what 'ull wait—and fit it should—till I'd spoken to you, Eve. I ain't like one who's got the chance o' comin' when he's minded to," he added, "or the grass wouldn't ha' had much chance o' growin' under my feet after once they felt the shore. No, now, don't look put out with me: I ain't goin' to ask ye to listen to nothin' you don't want to hear. I've tried to see the folly o' that while I've bin away, and 'tis all done with and pitched overboard; and that's what made me write that letter, 'cos I wanted us two to be like what we used to be, you know."

"I wish you hadn't written that letter, though," said Eve, only half inclined to credit Jerrem's assertions.

"Well, as things have turned out, so do I," said Jerrem, who, although he did not confess it to himself, would have given all he possessed to feel quite certain Eve would keep his secret. "You see, it's so awkard like, when everybody's tryin' to ferret out how this affair came about. You didn't happen to mention it to nobody, I s'pose?" and he turned a keen glance of inquiry toward Eve.

"Me mention it?" said Eve: "I should think not! Joan can tell you how angry we both were, for of course we knew that unless Adam had some good cause he wouldn't have wished it kept so secret."

"And do you think I should have quitted a word to any livin' soul but yourself?" exclaimed Jerrem. "I haven't much sense in your eyes, I know, Eve, but you might give me credit o' knowing who's to be trusted and who isn't."

"What's that about trustin'?" said Joan, who now made her appearance. "I tell 'ee what 'tis, Mr. Jerrem, you'm not to be trusted anyhows. Why, what could 'ee ha' bin thinkin' of to go sendin' that letter you did, after Adam had spoke to 'ee all? There'd be a purty set-out of it, you knaw, Jerrem, if the thing was to get winded about. I, for wan, shouldn't thank 'ee, I can tell 'ee, for gettin' my name mixed up with it, and me made nothin' better than a cat's-paw of."

"Who's goin' to wind it about?" said Jerrem, throwing his arm round her and drawing her coaxingly toward him. "You ain't, and I ain't, and I'll answer for it Eve ain't; and so long as we three keep our tongues atween our teeth, who'll be the wiser—eh?"

"Awh, that's all very fine," returned Joan, far from mollified, "but there's a somebody hasn't a-kept their tongues silent; and who it can be beats me to tell. Did Jonathan knaw for certain 'bout the landin'? or was it only guess-work with un?"

"I ain't sure; but Jonathan's safe enough," said Jerrem, "and so's the rest too. 'Twarn't through no blabbin', take my word for that: 'twas a reg'lar right-down set scheme from beginnin' to end, and that's why I should ha' liked to ha' give 'em a payin'-out that they wouldn't ha' forgot in a hurry. I'd ha' scored their reckonin' for 'em, I can tell *'eel"

"Awh! iss, I dare say," said Joan with scornful contempt: "you allays think you knaws better than they you'm bound to listen to. Howsomedever, when all's said and done, I shall finish with the same I began with—that you'd no right to send that letter."

"Well, you've told me that afore," said Jerrem sullenly.

"Iss, and now I tells 'ee behind," retorted Joan, "and to front and to back, and round all the sides—so there!"

"Oh, all right!" said Jerrem: "have your talk out: it don't matter to me;" and he threw himself down on the settle with apparent unconcern, taking from his breast-pocket a letter which he carefully unfolded.—"Did you know that I'd got a letter gived me to Guernsey, Eve," he said—"one they'd ha' kept waitin' there for months for me?"

Eve looked up, and, to her vexation, saw Jerrem reading the letter which on her first arrival she had written: the back of it was turned toward her, so as to ostentatiously display the two splotches of red sealing-wax.

"Why, you doan't mane to say you've a-got he?" exclaimed Joan, her anger completely giving way to her amazement. "Well, I never! after all this long whiles, and us a-tryin' to stop un, too!—Eve, do 'ee see he's got the letter you writ, kisses and all?"

"Joan!" exclaimed Eve in a tone of mingled reproof and annoyance, while Jerrem made a feint of pressing the impressions to his lips, casting the while a look in Eve's direction, which Joan intercepting, she said, "Awh! iss I would, seeing they'm so much mine as Eve's, and you doan't know t'other from which."

"That's all you can tell," said Jerrem.

"Iss, and all you can tell, too," replied Joan; adding, as the frown on his face betokened rising anger, "There, my dear, you'd best step inside wi' me and get a drop more o' your mornin's physic, I reckon."

"Physic?" growled Jerrem. "I don't want no physic—leastwise, no more than I've had from you already."

"Glad to hear it," said Joan. "When you change your mind—which, depend on it, 'ull be afore long—you'll find me close to hand.—I must make up a few somethin's for this evenin'," she said, addressing Eve, "in case any of 'em drops in. Adam's gone off," she added, "I don't know where, nor he neither till his work's done."

"Might just as well have saved hisself the trouble," growled Jerrem.

"No, now, he mightn't," replied Joan. "There's spurrits enough to wan place and t'other to float a Injyman in, and the sooner 'tis got the rids of the better, for 'twill be more by luck than good management if all they kegs is got away unseen."

"Oh, of course Adam's perfect," sneered Jerrem. Then, catching sight of Eve's face as he watched Joan go into the kitchen, he added with a desponding sigh, "I only wish I was; but the world's made for some: I s'pose the more they have the more they get."

Eve did not answer: perhaps she had not heard, as she was just now engaged in shifting her position so as to escape the dazzling rays of the sun, which came pouring down on her head. The movement seemed to awaken her to a sense of the day's unusual brightness, and, getting up, she went to the window and looked out. "Isn't it like summer?" she said, speaking more to herself than to Jerrem. "I really must say I should like to have gone somewhere for a walk."

The words, simple in themselves, flung in their tone a whole volume of reproach at Adam, for to Eve's exacting mind there could be no necessity urgent enough to take Adam away without ever seeing her or leaving a message for her.

"Well, come out with me," said Jerrem: "there's nothin' I should like better than a bit of a stroll. I'd got it in my head before you spoke."

Eve hesitated.

"P'r'aps you'm thinkin' Adam 'ud blame 'ee for it?"

"Oh dear, no, I'm not: I'm not quite such a slave to Adam's opinion as that. Besides," she added, feeling she was speaking, with undue asperity, "surely everybody may go for a walk without being blamed by anybody for it: at all events, I mean to go."

"That's right," said Jerrem.—"Here, I say, Joan, me and Eve's goin' out for a little."

"Goin' out? Where to?" said Joan, coming forward toward the door, to which he had advanced.

"Oh, round about for a bit—by Chapel Rock and out that ways."

"Well, if you goes with her, mind you comes back with her. D'ee hear, now?—Don't 'ee trust un out o' yer sight, Eve, my dear—not further than you can see un, nor so far if you can help it."

"You mind yer own business," said Jerrem.

"If you was to do that you'd stay at home, then," said Joan, dropping her voice; "but that's you all over, tryin' to put your finger into somebody's else's pie.—I doubt whether 'twill over-please Adam either," she added, coming back from watching them down the street; "but, there! if he and Eve's to sail in one boat, the sooner he learns 'twon't always be his turn to handle the tiller the better."

* * * * *

It was getting on for three o'clock when Adam, having completed all the business he could accomplish on that day, was returning home. He had been to the few gentlemen's houses near, had visited most of the large farms around, and had found a good many customers ready to relieve him of a considerable portion of the spirit which, by reason of their living so near at hand, would thus evade much of the danger attendant on a more distant transfer.

Every one had heard of the recent attack on the Lottery, and much sympathy was expressed and many congratulations were tendered on account of their happy escape.

Adam was a general favorite, looked up to and respected as an honest, straight-forward fellow; and so little condemnation was felt against the trade carried on that the very magistrate consented to take a portion of the goods, and saw no breach of his office in the admonition he gave to keep a sharp lookout against these new-comers, who seemed somewhat over-inclined to show their teeth.

Adam spoke freely of the anxiety he felt as to the result of the encounter, but very few seemed to share it. Most of them considered that, having escaped, with the exception of strengthened vigilance no further notice would be taken, so that his mind was considerably relieved about the matter, and his heart felt lighter and his pace more brisk in returning than when in the morning he had set out on his errand.

His last visit had been to Lizzen, and thence, instead of going back by the road, he struck across to the cliff by a narrow path known to him, and which would save him some considerable distance.

The day was perfect—the sky cloudless, the sea tranquil: the young verdure of the crag-crowned cliffs lay bathed in soft sunshine. For a moment Adam paused, struck by the air of quiet calm which overspread everything around. Not a breath of wind seemed abroad, not a sail in sight, not a sound to be heard. A few scattered sheep were lazily feeding near; below them a man was tilling a fresh-cleared patch of ground; far away beyond two figures were standing side by side.

Involuntarily, Adam's eyes rested on these two, and while he gazed upon them there sprang up into his heart the wish that Eve was here. He wanted her—wanted to remind her of the promise she had given him before they parted, the promise that on his return she would no longer delay, but tell him the day on which he might claim her for his wife. A minute more, and with all speed he was making a straight cut across the *cliff-side. Disregarding the path, he scrambled over the projections of rock and trampled down the furze, with only one thought in his mind—how soon he could reach home.

"Where's Eve, Joan?" he asked as, having looked through two of the rooms, he came, still in breathless haste, into the outer kitchen, where Joan was now busily engaged in baking her cakes.

"Ain't her outside nowheres?" said Joan, wiping her face with her apron to conceal its expression.

"No, I can't see her."

"Awh, then, I reckon they'm not come in yet;" and by this time she had recovered herself sufficiently to turn round and answer with indifference.

"Who's they?" said Adam quickly.

"Why, her went out for a bit of a stroll with Jerrem. They—"

But Adam interrupted her. "Jerrem?" he exclaimed. "Why should she go out with Jerrem?"

"Awh, he's right enough now," said Joan. "He's so sober as a judge, or I wouldn't ha' suffered 'en anighst her. Eve thought she should like a bit of a walk, and he offered to go with her; and I was very glad of it too, for Tabithy wanted to sandy the floors, so their room was better for we than their company."

"'Tis very strange," said Adam, "that Eve can't see how she puts me out by goin' off any way like this with Jerrem. I won't have it," he added, with rising anger, "and if she's to be my wife she sha'n't do it, either; so she'd best choose between us before things go too far."

"Awh, don't 'ee take it like that," said Joan soothingly. "'Twasn't done with no manin' in it. Her hadn't any more thought o' vexin' 'ee than a babby; nor I neither, so far as that goes, or I should ha' put a stopper on it, you may be sure. Why, go and meet 'em. They'm only out by Chapel Rock: they left word where they was goin' a-purpose."

A little mollified by this, Adam said, "I don't tell Eve everything, but Jerrem and I haven't pulled together for a long time, and the more we see o' one another the worse it is, and the less I want him to have anything to say to Eve. He's always carryin' on some game or 'nother. When we were at Guernsey he made a reg'lar set-out of it 'bout some letter that came there to him. Well, who could that have been from? Nobody we know anything about, or he'd have said so. Besides, who should want to write to him, or what business had he to go blabbin' about which place we were bound for? I haven't seen all the soundings o' that affair clear yet, but I mean to. I ain't goin' to be 'jammed in a clench like Jackson' for Jerrem nor nobody else."

Joan made no answer. She seemed to be engaged in turning her crock round, and while bending down she said, "Well, I should go after 'em if I was you. They'm sure not to be very far off, and I'll get tea ready while you'm gone."

Adam moved away. Somewhat reluctant to go, he lingered about the rooms for some time, making up his mind what he should do. He could not help being haunted by an idea that the two people he had seen standing were Eve and Jerrem. It was a suspicion which angered him beyond measure, and after once letting it come before him it rankled so sorely that he determined to satisfy himself, and therefore started off down the street, past the quay and up by the steps.

"Here, where be goin' to?" called out a voice behind him.

Without stopping Adam turned his head. "Oh, Poll, is that you?" he said.

"Iss."

"Have ye seen Eve pass this way? I think she'd got Jerrem with her."

"S'pose if I have?" said Poll, with whom Adam was no favorite: "they doesn't want you. You stay where you be now. I hates to see anybody a-spilin' sport like that."

With no very pleasant remark on the old woman Adam turned to go on.

"Awh, you may rin," she cried, "but you woan't catch up they. They was bound for Nolan Point, and they's past there long afore now."

Then the two he had seen were they! An indescribable feeling of jealousy stung Adam, and, giving way to his temper in a volley of oaths against old Poll, he turned back, repassed her and went toward home, while she stood enjoying his discomfiture, laughing heartily at it as she called out, "I hears 'ee. Swear away! I don't mind yer cusses, not I. Better hear they than be deef."

CHAPTER XXIX

"Joan, you needn't expect me till you see me"—Joan turned quickly round to see Adam at the door, looking angry and determined—"and you can tell Eve from me that as it seems all one to her whatever companion she has, I don't see any need for forcing myself where I am told I should only be one in the way."

"Adam—" But the door was already slammed, and Joan again left in possession of the kitchen.—"Now, there 'tis," she said in a tone of vexation, "just as I thought: a reg'lar piece o' work made all out o' nothin'. Drabbit the maid! If her's got the man her wants, why can't her study un a bit? But somehow there's bin a crooked stick lyin' in her path all day to-day: her's nipped about somethin', I'm positive sure o' that; and they all just come home too, and everythin', and now to be at daggers—drawn with one 'nother! 'Tis terrible, 'tis."

Joan's reflections, interrupted by the necessary attention which her cakes and pasties made upon her, lasted over some considerable time, and they had not yet come to an end when two of the principal objects of them presented themselves before her. "Why, wherever have 'ee bin to?" she said peevishly. "Whatever made 'ee stay away like this for—actin' so foolish, when you knaws, both of 'ee, what a poor temper Adam's got if anythin' goes contrary with un?"

Jerrem shrugged his shoulders, while Eve, at once assuming an injured air for such an unmerited attack, said, "Really, Joan, I don't know what you mean. Old Poll Potter has just been telling us that Adam came flying and fuming up her way, wanting to know if she'd seen us, and then, when she said where we'd gone to, he used the most dreadful language to her—I'm sure I don't know for what reason. He chose to go out without me this morning."

"But that was 'bout business," said Joan.

"Oh, business!" repeated Eve. "Business is a very convenient word when you don't want to tell a person what your real errand is. Not that I want to pry into Adam's secrets—far from it. He's quite welcome to keep what he likes from me, only I'd rather he wouldn't tell me half things. I like to know all or none."

Joan looked mystified, and Jerrem, seeing she did not know what to say, came to the rescue. "I'm sure I'm very vexed if I've been the cause of anything o' this, Eve," he said humbly.

"You needn't be at all vexed: it's nothing at all to do with you. You asked me to go, and I said yes: if I hadn't wanted to go I should have said no. Any one would think I'd committed a crime, instead of taking a simple walk, with no other fault than not happening to return home at the very same minute that it suited Adam to come back at."

"But how is it he's a seed you if you haven't a seed he?" said Joan, fairly puzzled by this game of cross-purposes. "He came home all right 'nuf, and then went off to see whereabouts he could find 'ee to; and 'bout quarter'n hour after back he comes in a reg'lar pelt, and says, 'You tell Eve,' he says, 'that I'm not goin' to foace myself where I'm told I sha'n't be wanted.' Awh, my dear, he'd seed 'ee somewheres," she continued in answer to Eve's shrug of bewilderment: "I could tell that so soon as iver I'd clapped eyes on un."

"And where's he off to now?" said Eve, determined to have an immediate settlement of her wrongs.

"I can't tell: he just flung they words at me and was gone."

Eve said no more, but with the apparent intention of taking off her hat went up stairs, while Joan, bidding Jerrem go and see if Uncle Zebedee was roused up yet, returned to her previous occupation of preparing the tea. When it was ready she called out, "Come 'long, Eve;" but no answer was returned. "Tay's ready, my dear." Still no reply.—"She can't ha' gone out agen?" thought Joan, mounting the stairs to ascertain the cause of the silence, which was soon explained by the sight of Eve flung down on the bed, with her head buried in the pillow.—"Now, whatever be doin' this for?" exclaimed Joan, bending down and discovering that Eve was sobbing as if her heart would break. "Awh, doan't cry now, there's a dear: 't 'ull all come straight agen. Why, now, you'll see Adam 'ull be back in no time. 'Twas only through bein' baulked when he'd a come back o' purpose to take 'ee out."

"How was I to know that?" sobbed Eve.

"No, o' course you didn't, and that's what I told un. But, lors! 'tis in the nature o' men to be jealous o' one 'nother, and with Adam more partickler o' Jerrem; so for the future you must humor un a bit, 'cos there's things atwixt they two you doan't know nothin' of, and so can't allays tell when the shoe's pinchin' most."

"I often think whether Adam and me will be happy together," said Eve, sitting up and drying her eyes. "I'm willing to give in, but I won't be trampled upon."

"And he won't want to trample 'pon 'ee, neither. Only you study un a bit, and you'll soon learn the measure o' Adam's foot. Why, 'tis only to see un lookin' at 'ee to tell how he loves 'ee;" and Joan successfully kept down a rising sigh as she added, "Lors! he wouldn't let a fly pitch 'pon 'ee if he could help it."

"If he'd seen us before he came in first he'd have surely told you?" said Eve.

"Awh, he hadn't seen 'ee then," said Joan, "'cos, though he was a bit vexed, he wasn't in no temper. 'Twas after he went out the second time that he must have cast eyes on 'ee some way. Jerrem wasn't up to none of his nonsense, was he?" she asked. '"Cos I knaws what Jerrem is. He don't think no more o' givin' 'ee a kiss or that than he does o' noddin' his head or crookin' his elbaw; and if Adam caught un at that, it 'ud be enough for he."

Eve shook her head. "Jerrem never takes none of those liberties with me," she said: "he knows I won't allow him to. The whole of the time we did nothing but talk and walk along till we came to a nice place, and then we stayed for a little while looking at the view together, and after that came back."

"'Tis more than I can make out, then," said Joan, "'cos, though I wondered when you set off whether Adam would 'zactly relish your bein' with Jerrem, I never thought 'twould put un out like this."

"It makes me feel so miserable!" said Eve, trying to keep back her tears; "for oh, Joan"—and she threw her arms round Joan's neck—"I do love him very dearly!"

"Iss, my dear, I knaws you do," returned Joan soothingly, "and he loves you too."

"Then why can't we always feel the same, Joan, and be comfortable and kind and pleasant to one another?"

"Oh lors! that 'ud be a reg'lar milk-and-watter set-out o' it. No, so long as you doan't carry on too far on the wan tack I likes a bit of a breeze now and then: it freshens 'ee up and puts new life into 'ee. But here, come along down now, and when Adam comes back seem as if nothin' had happened, and p'r'aps seein' you make so light of it 'ull make un forget all about it."

So advised, Eve dried her eyes and smoothed down her ruffled appearance, and in a short time joined the party below, which now included Uncle Zebedee, Barnabas Tadd and Zeke Teague, who had brought word that the Hart had only that morning returned to Fowey, entirely ignorant of the skirmish which had taken place between the Looe boats and the Lottery, and that, though it was reported that the man shot had been shot dead, nothing was known for certain, as it seemed that the men of Looe station were not over-anxious to have the thing talked about.

"I should think they wasn't, neither," chuckled Uncle Zebedee. "Sneakin', cowardly lot! they was game enough whiles they was creepin' up behind, but, lors! so soon as us shawed our faces, and they seed they'd got men to dale with, there was another tale to tell, and no mistake. I much doubt whether or no wan amongst 'em had ever smelt powder afore our Jerrem here let 'em have a sniff o' his mixin'. 'Tis my belief—and I ha'n't a got a doubt on the matter, neither—that if he hadn't let fly when he did they'd ha' drawed off and gone away boastin' that they'd got the best o' it."

"Well, and more's the pity you didn't let 'em, then," said Joan. "I would, I knaw. Safe bind's safe find, and you can never tell when fightin' begins where 'tis goin' to end to."

"It shouldn't ha' ended where it did if I'd had my way," said Jerrem.

"Awh, well! there, never mind," said old Zebedee. "You'll have a chance agen, never fear, and then we must make 'ee capen. How'd that plaze 'ee, eh?"

Jerrem's face bespoke his satisfaction. "Take care I don't hold 'ee to yer word," he said, laughing. "I've got witnesses, mind, to prove it: here's Barnabas here, and Zeke Teague, and they won't say me nay, I'll wager—will 'ee, lads?"

"Wa-all, bide a bit, bide a bit," said Zebedee, winking in appreciation of this joke. "There'll be two or three o' the oldsters drap in durin' the ebenin', and then us 'll have a bit of a jaw together on it, and weigh sides on the matter."

As Uncle Zebedee anticipated, the evening brought a goodly number of visitors, who, one after another, came dropping in until the sitting-room was pretty well filled, and it was as much as Eve and Joan could manage to see that each one was comfortably seated and provided for.

There were the captains of the three vessels, with a portion of the crew of each, several men belonging to the place—all more or less mixed up with the ventures—and of course the crew of the Lottery, by no means yet tired of having their story listened to and their adventure discussed. Adam's absence was felt to be a great relief, and each one inwardly voted it as a proof that Adam himself saw that he'd altogether made a missment and gone nigh to damage the whole concern. Many a jerk of the head or the thumb accompanied a whisper that "he'd a tooked hisself off," and drew forth the response that "'twas the proper line to pursoo;" and, feeling they had no fear of interruption, they resigned themselves to enjoyment and settled down to jollity, in the very midst of which Adam made his appearance. But the time was passed when his presence or his absence could in any way affect them, and, instead of the uncomfortable silence which at an earlier stage might have fallen upon the party, his entrance was now only the occasion of hard hits and rough jokes, which Adam, seeing the influence under which they were made, tried to bear with all the temper he could command.

"Don't 'ee take no notice of 'em," said Joan, bending over him to set down some fresh glasses. "They ain't worth yer anger, not one among 'em. I've kept Eve out of it so much as I could, and after now there won't be no need for her to come in agen; so you go outside there. Her's a waitin' to have a word with 'ee."

"Then wait she may," said Adam: "I'm goin' to stop where I am.—Here, father," he cried, "pass the liquor this way. Come, push the grog about. Last come first served, you know."

The heartiness with which this was said caused considerable astonishment.

"Iss, iss, lad," said old Zebedee, his face glowing under the effects of hot punch and the efforts of hospitality. "That's well said. Set to with a will, and you'll catch us up yet."

During the laughter called forth by this challenge, Joan took another opportunity of speaking. "Why, what be 'bout, Adam?" she said, seeing how unlike his speech and action were to his usual self. "Doan't 'ee go and cut off your naws to spite yer face, now. Eve's close by here. Her's as sorry as anythin', her is: her wouldn't ha' gone out for twenty pounds if her'd knawed it."

"I wish you'd hold yer tongue," said Adam: "I've told you I'm goin' to stop here. Be off with you, now!"

But Joan, bent on striving to keep him from an excess to which she saw exasperation was goading him, made one more effort. "Awh, Adam," she said, "do 'ee come now. Eve—"

"Eve be—"

But before the word had well escaped his lips Joan's hand was clapped over his mouth. Too late, for Eve had come up behind them, and as Adam turned his head to shake Joan off he found himself face to face before her, and the look of outraged love she fixed upon him made his heart quail within him. What could he do? what should he say? Nothing now, for before he could gather up his senses she had passed by him and was gone.