His levity seemed ghastly; and his refusal upon any persuasion to see a doctor quite heathenish, and a sign of one foredoomed.

She believed that his arm was broken, and smarted with wrath at her mistress for so easily taking his word to the contrary.  More than all, his abjuration of brandy now when it would do him good to take it, struck her as an instance of that masculine insanity in the comprehension of which all women must learn to fortify themselves.  There was much whispering in the room, inarticulate to her, before Mrs. Boulby came out; enjoining a rigorous silence, and stating that the patient would drink nothing but tea.

“He begged,” she said half to herself, “to have the window blinds up in the morning, if the sun wasn’t strong, for him to look on our river opening down to the ships.”

“That looks as if he meant to live,” Susan remarked.

“He!” cried the widow, “it’s Robert Eccles.  He’d stand on his last inch.”

“Would he, now!” ejaculated Susan, marvelling at him, with no question as to what footing that might be.

“Leastways,” the widow hastened to add, “if he thought it was only devils against him.  I’ve heard him say, ’It’s a fool that holds out against God, and a coward as gives in to the devil;’ and there’s my Robert painted by his own hand.”

“But don’t that bring him to this so often, Mum?” Susan ruefully inquired, joining teapot and kettle.

“I do believe he’s protected,” said the widow.

With the first morning light Mrs. Boulby was down at Warbeach Farm, and being directed to Farmer Eccles in the stables, she found the sturdy yeoman himself engaged in grooming Robert’s horse.

“Well, Missis,” he said, nodding to her; “you win, you see.  I thought you would; I’d have sworn you would.  Brandy’s stronger than blood, with some of our young fellows.”

“If you please, Mr. Eccles,” she replied, “Robert’s sending of me was to know if the horse was unhurt and safe.”

“Won’t his legs carry him yet, Missis?”

“His legs have been graciously spared, Mr. Eccles; it’s his head.”

“That’s where the liquor flies, I’m told.”

“Pray, Mr. Eccles, believe me when I declare he hasn’t touched a drop of anything but tea in my house this past night.”

“I’m sorry for that; I’d rather have him go to you.  If he takes it, let him take it good; and I’m given to understand that you’ve a reputation that way.  Just tell him from me, he’s at liberty to play the devil with himself, but not with my beasts.”

The farmer continued his labour.

“No, you ain’t a hard man, surely,” cried the widow.  “Not when I say he was sober, Mr. Eccles; and was thrown, and made insensible?”

“Never knew such a thing to happen to him, Missis, and, what’s more, I don’t believe it.  Mayhap you’re come for his things:  his Aunt Anne’s indoors, and she’ll give ’em up, and gladly.  And my compliments to Robert, and the next time he fancies visiting Warbeach, he’d best forward a letter to that effect.”