her; and from him a snapping outburst, and from her a sign that she held out still; in fact, had she chosen to battle for that last word, as in other cases she might have done, then would he have exploded, gone to bed in the dark, and insisted upon sleeping:  the consequence of which would have been to change this history.  Now while Mrs. Hawkshaw was upstairs, Mrs. Mel called the servant, who took her to the kitchen, where she saw a prime loin of mutton; off which she cut two chops with a cunning hand:  and these she toasted at a gradual distance, putting a plate beneath them, and a tin behind, and hanging the chops so that they would turn without having to be pierced.  The bell rang twice before she could say the chops were ready.  The first time, the maid had to tell the old gentleman she was taking up his water.  Her next excuse was, that she had dropped her candle.  The chops ready—­who was to take them?

’Really, Mrs. Harrington, you are so clever, you ought, if I might be so bold as say so; you ought to end it yourself,’ said the landlady.  ’I can’t ask him to eat them:  he was all but on the busting point when I left him.’

‘And that there candle did for him quite,’ said Mary, the maid.

‘I’m afraid it’s chops cooked for nothing,’ added the landlady.

Mrs. Mel saw them endangered.  The maid held back:  the landlady feared.

‘We can but try,’ she said.

’Oh!  I wish, mum, you’d face him, ‘stead o’ me,’ said Mary; ’I do dread that old bear’s den.’

‘Here, I will go,’ said Mrs. Mel.  ’Has he got his ale?  Better draw it fresh, if he drinks any.’

And upstairs she marched, the landlady remaining below to listen for the commencement of the disturbance.  An utterance of something certainly followed Mrs. Mel’s entrance into the old bear’s den.  Then silence.  Then what might have been question and answer.  Then—­was Mrs. Mel assaulted? and which was knocked down?  It really was a chair being moved to the table.  The door opened.

‘Yes, ma’am; do what you like,’ the landlady heard.  Mrs. Mel descended, saying:  ‘Send him up some fresh ale.’

‘And you have made him sit down obedient to those chops?’ cried the landlady.  ’Well might poor dear Mr. Harrington—­pleasant man as he was!—­say, as he used to say, “There’s lovely women in the world, Mrs. Hawkshaw,” he’d say, “and there’s Duchesses,” he’d say, “and there’s they that can sing, and can dance, and some,” he says, “that can cook.”  But he’d look sly as he’d stoop his head and shake it.  “Roll ’em into one,” he says, “and not any of your grand ladies can match my wife at home.”

And, indeed, Mrs. Harrington, he told me he thought so many a time in the great company he frequented.’

Perfect peace reigning above, Mrs. Hawkshaw and Mrs. Mel sat down to supper below; and Mrs. Hawkshaw talked much of the great one gone.  His relict did not care to converse about the dead, save in their practical aspect as ghosts; but she listened, and that passed the time.  By-and-by, the old gentleman rang, and sent a civil message to know if the landlady had ship’s rum in the house.