“I’ll take a message to the poor thing, with the greatest pleasure,” answered Sergeant Cuff, before I could put in a word edgewise.

Mrs. Yolland produced out of her pocket, a few shillings and sixpences, and counted them out with a most particular and exasperating carefulness in the palm of her hand.  She offered the money to the Sergeant, looking mighty loth to part with it all the while.

“Might I ask you to give this back to Rosanna, with my love and respects?” says Mrs. Yolland.  “She insisted on paying me for the one or two things she took a fancy to this evening—­and money’s welcome enough in our house, I don’t deny it.  Still, I’m not easy in my mind about taking the poor thing’s little savings.  And to tell you the truth, I don’t think my man would like to hear that I had taken Rosanna Spearman’s money, when he comes back to-morrow morning from his work.  Please say she’s heartily welcome to the things she bought of me—­as a gift.  And don’t leave the money on the table,” says Mrs. Yolland, putting it down suddenly before the Sergeant, as if it burnt her fingers—­“don’t, there’s a good man!  For times are hard, and flesh is weak; and I might feel tempted to put it back in my pocket again.”

“Come along!” I said, “I can’t wait any longer:  I must go back to the house.”

“I’ll follow you directly,” says Sergeant Cuff.

For the second time, I went to the door; and, for the second time, try as I might, I couldn’t cross the threshold.

“It’s a delicate matter, ma’am,” I heard the Sergeant say, “giving money back.  You charged her cheap for the things, I’m sure?”

“Cheap!” says Mrs. Yolland.  “Come and judge for yourself.”

She took up the candle and led the Sergeant to a corner of the kitchen.  For the life of me, I couldn’t help following them.  Shaken down in the corner was a heap of odds and ends (mostly old metal), which the fisherman had picked up at different times from wrecked ships, and which he hadn’t found a market for yet, to his own mind.  Mrs. Yolland dived into this rubbish, and brought up an old japanned tin case, with a cover to it, and a hasp to hang it up by—­the sort of thing they use, on board ship, for keeping their maps and charts, and such-like, from the wet.

“There!” says she.  “When Rosanna came in this evening, she bought the fellow to that.  ‘It will just do,’ she says, ’to put my cuffs and collars in, and keep them from being crumpled in my box.’  One and ninepence, Mr. Cuff.  As I live by bread, not a halfpenny more!”

“Dirt cheap!” says the Sergeant, with a heavy sigh.

He weighed the case in his hand.  I thought I heard a note or two of “The Last Rose of Summer” as he looked at it.  There was no doubt now!  He had made another discovery to the prejudice of Rosanna Spearman, in the place of all others where I thought her character was safest, and all through me!  I leave you to imagine what I felt, and how sincerely I repented having been the medium of introduction between Mrs. Yolland and Sergeant Cuff.