guests. Buxom, and not too old to forget that she had once been
accounted pretty, she still loved smartness and bright colours, was not
averse to a kiss upon occasion, and had a jest--coarse, perhaps, but
with some wit in it--for each of her customers. She knew them
well--their secrets, their love episodes, their dangers; sometimes she
gave advice, had often rendered them valuable help, but she had also a
keen eye for business. Her favours had to be paid for, and even from the
handsomest of her customers a kiss had never been known to settle a
score. The "Punch-Bowl" was no place for empty pockets, and bad luck was
rather a crime than an excuse. When it pleased her the landlady could
tell many tales of other fine gentlemen she had known and would never
see again, and she always gave the impression that she considered her
former customers far superior to her present ones. Perhaps she found the
comparison good for her business since she spoke to vain men. She had
become reminiscent this evening.

"The very night before he was taken he sat where you're sitting," she
said, pointing to one of her customers who was seated by the hearth.
"Ah! He made a good end of it did Jim o' the Green Coat; kicked off his
boots as if they were an old pair he had done with, and threw the
ordinary out of the cart, saying he had no time to waste on him just
then. I was there and saw it all."

There was silence as she concluded her glowing tale. Depression may take
hold of the most careless and light-hearted for a moment, and even the
attraction of making a good end, with an opportunity of spurning a
worthless ordinary, cannot always appeal. The landlady had contrived to
make her story vivid, and furtive glances were cast at the individual
who occupied the seat she had indicated. There suddenly appeared to be
something fatal in it and ample reason why a man might congratulate