Lord Hartledon remained with Pike some time longer, soothing the man as much as it was in his power and kindly nature to soothe.  He whispered a word of the clergyman, Dr. Ashton.

“Father says he shall bring him to-night,” was the answer.  “It’s all a farce.”

“I am sorry to hear you say that,” returned Lord Hartledon, gravely.

“If I had never said a worse thing than that, my lord, I shouldn’t hurt.  Unless the accounts are made up beforehand, parsons can’t avail much at the twelfth hour.  Mother’s lessons to me when a child, and her reading the Bible as she sits here in the night, are worth more than Dr. Ashton could do.  But for those old lessons’ having come home to me now, I might not have cared to ask your forgiveness.  Dr. Ashton! what is he?  For an awful sinner—­and it’s what I’ve been—­there’s only Christ.  At times I think I’ve been too bad even for Him.  I’ve only my sins to take to Him:  never were worse in this world.”

Lord Hartledon went out rather bewildered with the occurrences of the morning.  Thinking it might be only kind to step into the clerk’s, he crossed the stile and went in without ceremony by the open back-door.  Mrs. Gum was alone in the kitchen, crying bitterly.  She dried her eyes in confusion, as she curtsied to her visitor.

“I know all,” he interrupted, in low, considerate tones, to the poor suffering woman.  “I have been to see him.  Never mind explanations:  let us think what we can best do to lighten his last hours.”

Mrs. Gum burst into deeper tears.  It was a relief, no doubt:  but she wondered how much Lord Hartledon knew.

“I say that he ought to be got away from that place, Mrs. Gum.  It’s not fit for a man to die in.  You might have him here.  Calne!  Surely my protection will sufficiently screen him against tattling Calne!”

She shook her head, saying it was of no use talking to Willy about removal; he wouldn’t have it; and she thought herself it might be better not.  Jabez, too; if this ever came out in Calne, it would just kill him; his lordship knew what he was, and how he had cared for appearances all his life.  No; it would not be for many more hours now, and Willy must die in the shed where he had lived.

Lord Hartledon sat down on the ironing-board, the white table underneath the window, in the old familiar manner of former days; many and many a time had he perched himself there to talk to her when he was young Val Elster.

“Only fancy what my life has been, my lord,” she said.  “People have called me nervous and timid; but look at the cause I’ve had!  I was just beginning to get over the grief for his death, when he came here; and to the last hour of my life I shan’t get the night out of my mind!  I and Jabez were together in this very kitchen.  I had come in to wash up the tea-things, and Jabez followed me.  It was a cold, dark evening, and the parlour fire had got low.  By token, my lord,