'Thou must fetch th' lawyer,' he said at length, 'for I'll cut thee
off.'

It was a strange request--like ordering a condemned man to go out and
search for his executioner; but Mark answered with perfect naturalness:

'Yes. Mr. Ford, I suppose?'

'Ford? No! Dost think I want _him_ meddling i' my affairs? Go to young
Baines up th' road. Tell him to come at once. He's sure to be at home,
as it's Saturday night.'

'Very well.'

Mark turned to leave the room.

'And, young un, I've done with thee. Never pass my door again till thou
know'st I'm i' my coffin. Understand?'

Mark hesitated a moment, and then went out, quietly closing the door. No
sooner had he done so than the girl, hitherto so passive at the window,
flew after him.

There are some women whose calm, enigmatic faces seem always to suggest
the infinite. It is given to few to know them, so rare as they are, and
their lives usually so withdrawn; but sometimes they pass in the street,
or sit like sphinxes in the church or the theatre, and then the memory
of their features, persistently recurring, troubles us for days. They
are peculiar to no class, these women: you may find them in a print gown
or in diamonds. Often they have thin, rather long lips and deep rounded