"I dare say," replied the farmer. "I shouldn't wonder but what he's
hanging about somewhere near now, unable to tear himself away."

Mr. Bodfish wrung his hands, and his thoughts reverted instinctively to
instances in his memory in which charges of murder had been altered by
the direction of a sensible judge to manslaughter. He held his breath
for the next words.

Mr. Negget drank a little more ale and looked at Mrs. Driver.

[Illustration: MRS. DRIVER FELL RACK BEORE THE EMERGING FORM OF MR.
BODFISH]

"I wonder whether you've got a morsel of bread and cheese?" he said,
slowly. "I've come over that hungry--"

The widow and Mr. Bodfish rose simultaneously. It required not the brain
of a trained detective to know that the cheese was in the larder. The
unconscious Mrs. Driver opened the door, and then with a wild scream fell
back before the emerging form of Mr. Bodfish into the arms of Mrs.
Clowes. The glass of Mr. Negget smashed on the floor, and the farmer
himself, with every appearance of astonishment, stared at the apparition
open-mouthed.

"Mr.--Bodfish!" he said at length, slowly.

Mr. Bodfish, incapable of speech, glared at him ferociously.

"Leave him alone," said Mrs. Clowes, who was ministering to her friend.