self!'

'Bell!' protested Gabriel, almost in an hysterical tone, for his nerves
were not yet under control, and the crude speeches of the girl made him
wince.

'Well! well! I'm only joking. I know you wouldn't hurt a fly. But you do
look ill, that's a fact. Let me get you some brandy.'

'No, thank you, brandy would only make me worse. Let me go up and see
your mother.'

'I sha'n't! You're not fit to see anyone. Go home and lie down till your
nerves get right. You can see me after five if you like, for I'm going
to the dead-house to have a look at Jentham's body.'

'What! to see the corpse of that unhappy man,' cried Gabriel, shrinking
away.

'Why not?' answered Bell, coolly, for she had that peculiar love of
looking on dead bodies characteristic of the lower classes. 'I want to
see how they killed him.'

'How who killed him?'

'The person as did it, silly. Though I don't know who could have shot
him unless it was that old cat of a Mrs Pansey. Well, I can't stay here
talking all day, and father will be wondering what I'm up to. You go
home and lie down, Gabriel.'

'Not just now. I must walk up to the palace.'

'Hum! The bishop will be in a fine way about this murder. It's years
since anyone got killed here. I hope they'll catch the wretch as shot
Jentham, though I can't say I liked him myself.'

'I hope they will catch him,' replied Gabriel, mechanically. 'Good-day,
Miss Mosk! I shall call and see your mother to-morrow.'

'Good-day, Mr Pendle, and thank you, oh, so much!'

This particular form of farewell was intended for the ears of Mr Mosk
and the general public, but it failed in its object so far as the
especial person it was intended to impress was concerned. When the
black-clothed form of Gabriel vanished, Mr Mosk handed over the business
of the bar to an active pot-boy, and conducted his daughter back to the
little parlour. Bell saw from his lowering brow that her father was
suspicious of her lengthened interview with the curate, and was bent
upon causing trouble. However, she was not the kind of girl to be
daunted by black looks, and, moreover, was conscious that her father
would be rather pleased than otherwise to hear that she was honourably
engaged to the son of Bishop Pendle, so she sat down calmly enough at
his gruff command, and awaited the coming storm. If driven into a
corner, she intended to tell the truth, therefore she faced her father
with the greatest coolness.

'What d'y mean by it