they underwent, came from use of his eyes and ears in daily contact with a class among whom he had been more or less brought up.  In sympathy with, and yet not of them, he had the queer privilege of feeling their slights as if they were his own, together with feelings of protection, and even of contempt that they should let themselves be slighted.  He was near enough to understand how they must feel; not near enough to understand why, feeling as they did, they did not act as he would have acted.  In truth, he knew them no better than he should.

He found Tryst washing at his pump.  In the early morning light the big laborer’s square, stubborn face, with its strange, dog-like eyes, had a sodden, hungry, lost look.  Cutting short ablutions that certainly were never protracted, he welcomed Derek, and motioned him to pass into the kitchen.  The young man went in, and perched himself on the window-sill beside a pot of Bridal Wreath.  The cottage was one of the Mallorings’, and recently repaired.  A little fire was burning, and a teapot of stewed tea sat there beside it.  Four cups and spoons and some sugar were put out on a deal table, for Tryst was, in fact, brewing the morning draught of himself and children, who still lay abed up-stairs.  The sight made Derek shiver and his eyes darken.  He knew the full significance of what he saw.

“Did you ask him again, Bob?”

“Yes, I asked ’im.”

“What did he say?”

“Said as orders was plain.  ‘So long as you lives there,’ he says, ‘along of yourself alone, you can’t have her come back.’”

“Did you say the children wanted looking after badly?  Did you make it clear?  Did you say Mrs. Tryst wished it, before she—­”

“I said that.”

“What did he say then?”

“‘Sorry for you, m’lad, but them’s m’lady’s orders, an’ I can’t go contrary.  I don’t wish to go into things,’ he says; ’you know better’n I how far ’tis gone when she was ‘ere before; but seein’ as m’lady don’t never give in to deceased wife’s sister marryin’, if she come back ’tis certain to be the other thing.  So, as that won’t do neither, you go elsewhere,’ he says.”

Having spoken thus at length, Tryst lifted the teapot and poured out the dark tea into the three cups.

“Will ’ee have some, sir?”

Derek shook his head.

Taking the cups, Tryst departed up the narrow stairway.  And Derek remained motionless, staring at the Bridal Wreath, till the big man came down again and, retiring into a far corner, sat sipping at his own cup.

“Bob,” said the boy suddenly, “do you like being a dog; put to what company your master wishes?”

Tryst set his cup down, stood up, and crossed his thick arms—­the swift movement from that stolid creature had in it something sinister; but he did not speak.

“Do you like it, Bob?”

“I’ll not say what I feels, Mr. Derek; that’s for me.  What I does’ll be for others, p’raps.”