sleek Moses Fletcher crossed their path, an old woman flinging at
him the words:

'Thaa's had th' uttermost farthin', but thaa's God to square wi'
yet.'



II.

THE REDEMPTION OF MOSES FLETCHER.


Moses Fletcher was suffering from what the doctor called 'nervous
shock,' with sundry wounds of a severe nature received in an
attempt to rescue his dog in a canine _mêlée_.

He was a medium-sized man, with a hatchet face, lit by keen gray
eyes, small as a ferret's; and, by way of apology for a mouth,
displayed a thin lip-line which fell at either end with a cruel
and cynical curve.

As he lay in bed, with a face as white as the counterpane which
covered him, he now and again extended his bandaged hand to the
favourite hound that rested on a plaid shawl at his feet, calling
it by endearing names, and welcoming its warm and faithful
caresses.

The chamber was small, but cosy, with many evidences of comfort.
Trellised greenery looked in at him through the deep-splayed