rrel with other people. Nevertheless, Bessie had always felt that it
would be a crying shame and slight if she and Isaac did not have the
guardianship of the money. She thirsted, perhaps, to make an impression
upon public opinion in the village, which, as she instinctively
realised, held her cheaply. And then, of course, there was the secret
thought of John's death and what might come of it. John had always
loudly proclaimed that he meant to spend his money, and not leave it
behind him. But the instinct of saving, once formed, is strong. John,
too, might die sooner than he thought--and she and Isaac had children.

She had come up, indeed, that afternoon, haunted by a passionate desire
to get the money into her hands; yet the mere sordidness of
'expectations' counted for less in the matter than one would suppose.
Vanity, a vague wish to ingratiate herself with her uncle, to avoid a
slight--these were, on the whole, her strongest motives. At any rate,
when he had once asked her the momentous question, she knew well what to
say to him.

'Well, if you arst me,' she said hastily, 'of course _we_ think as it's
only nateral you should leave it with Isaac an me, as is your own kith
and kin. But we wasn't goin to say nothin; we didn't want to be pushin
of ourselves forward.'

John rose to his feet. He was in his shirt-sleeves, which were rolled
up. He pulled them down, put on his coat, an air of crisis on his fat
face.

'Where 'ud you put it?' he said.

'Yer know that cupboard by the top of the stairs? It 'ud stand there
easy. And the cupboard's got a good lock to it; but we'd 'ave it seen
to, to make sure.'

She looked up at him eagerly. She longed to feel herself trusted and
important. Her self-love was too often mortified in these respects.

John fumbled round his neck for the bit of black cord on which he kept
two keys--the key of his room while he was away, and the key of the box
itself.

'Well, let's get done with it,' he said. 'I'm off to-morrer mornin, six
o'clock. You go and get Isaac to come down.'

'I'll run,' said Bessie, catching up her shawl and throwing it over her
head. 'He wor just finishin his tea.'

And she whirled out of the cottage, running up the steep road behind it
as fast as she could. John was vaguely displeased by her excitement; but
the die was cast. He went to make his arrangements.

Bessie ran till she was out of breath. When she reached her own house, a
cottage in a side lane above th