man shall invade thee to hurt thee,' [see Note] saith the
Lord unto His servants."

"They've set on Mistress Benden, trow."

"Nay, not to hurt her. `Some of you shall they cause to be put to
death... yet shall not an hair of your head perish.'"

"Eh, Nick, how shall that be brought about?"

"I know not, Collet, neither do I care. The Lord's bound to bring it
about, and He knows how. I haven't it to do."

"'Tis my belief," said Collet, shaking the table-cloth, in a fond
endeavour to obliterate the signs of Master Silas and his art, "that
Master Benden 'll have a pretty bill to pay, one o' these days!"

Her opinion would have been confirmed if she could have looked into the
window at Briton's Mead, as Mr Benden's house was called. For Edward
Benden was already coming to that conclusion. He sat in his lonely
parlour, without a voice to break the stillness, after an uncomfortable
supper sent up in the absence of the mistress by a girl whom Alice had
not yet fully trained, and who, sympathising wholly with her, was not
concerned to increase the comfort of her master. At that time the
mistress of a house, unless very exalted, was always her own housekeeper
and head cook.

Mr Benden was not a man usually given to excess, but he drank deeply
that evening, to get out of the only company he had, that of his own
self-reproachful thoughts. He had acted in haste--spurred on, not
deterred, by Tabitha's bitter speeches; and he was now occupied in
repenting considerably at leisure. He knew as well as any one could
have told him, that he was an unpopular man in his neighbourhood, and
that no one of his acquaintance would have done or suffered much for
him, save that long-suffering wife who, by his own act, lay that night a
prisoner in Canterbury Gaol. Even she did not love him--he had never
given her room nor reason; but she would have done her duty by him, and
he knew it.

He looked up to where her portrait hung upon the wall, taken ten years
ago, in the bloom of her youth. The eyes were turned towards him, and
the lips were half parted in a smile.

"Alice!" he said, as if the picture could have heard him. "Alice!"

But the portrait smiled on, and gave no answer.

"I'll have you forth, Alice," he murmured. "I'll see to it the first
thing to-morrow. Well, not to-morrow, neither; market-day at Cranbrook.
I meant to take the bay horse to sell there. Do no harm, trow, to let
her tarry a two-three days or a week.