“Why didn’t he let Hurd alone,” said Marcella, sadly, “and prosecute him next day?  It’s attacking men when their blood is up that brings these awful hings about.”

“Wal, I don’t see that,” said Mrs. Jellison, pugnaciously; “he wor paid to do ‘t—­an’ he had the law on his side.  ’Ow ’s she?” she said, lowering her voice and jerking her thumb in the direction of the Hurds’ cottage.

“She’s very ill,” replied Marcella, with a contraction of the brow.  “Dr. Clarke says she ought to stay in bed, but of course she won’t.”

“They’re a-goin’ to try ’im Thursday?” said Mrs. Jellison, inquiringly.

“Yes.”

“An’ Muster Wharton be a-goin’ to defend ’im.  Muster Wharton may be cliver, ee may—­they do say as ee can see the grass growin’, ee’s that knowin’—­but ee’ll not get Jim Hurd off; there’s nobody in the village as b’lieves for a moment as ’ow he will.  They’ll best ‘im.  Lor’ bless yer, they’ll best ‘im.  I was a-sayin’ it to Isabella this afternoon—­ee’ll not save ’is neck, don’t you be afeared.”

Marcella drew herself up with a shiver of repulsion.

“Will it mend your daughter’s grief to see another woman’s heart broken?  Don’t you suppose it might bring her some comfort, Mrs. Jellison, if she were to try and forgive that poor wretch?  She might remember that her husband gave him provocation, and that anyway, if his life is spared, his punishment and their misery will be heavy enough!”

“Oh, lor’ no!” said Mrs. Jellison, composedly.  “She don’t want to be forgivin’ of ‘im.  Mr. Harden ee come talkin’ to ’er, but she isn’t one o’ that sort, isn’t Isabella.  I’m sartin sure she’ll be better in ’erself when they’ve put ‘im out o’ the way.  It makes her all ov a fever to think of Muster Wharton gettin’ ’im off. I don’t bear Jim Hurd no pertickler malice.  Isabella may talk herself black i’ the face, but she and Johnnie’ll have to come ‘ome and live along o’ me, whatever she may say.  She can’t stay in that cottage, cos they’ll be wantin’ it for another keeper.  Lord Maxwell ee’s givin’ her a fine pension, my word ee is! an’ says ee’ll look after Johnnie.  And what with my bit airnins—­we’ll do, yer know, miss—­we’ll do!”

The old woman looked up with a nod, her green eyes sparkling with the queer inhuman light that belonged to them.

Marcella could not bring herself to say good-night to her, and was hurrying on without a word, when Mrs. Jellison stopped her.

“An’ ‘ow about that straw-plaitin’, miss?” she said slyly.

“I have had to put it on one side for a bit,” said Marcella, coldly, hating the woman’s society.  “I have had my hands full and Lady Winterbourne has been away, but we shall, of course, take it up again later.”

She walked away quickly, and Mrs. Jellison hobbled after her, grinning to herself every now and then as she caught the straight, tall figure against the red evening sky.