counter and jerked back a trap door. Here he saw a flight of wooden
steps which led downwards into darkness. But Miss Junk snatched up a
lantern on the top step, and having lighted it dropped down, holding it
above her red and touzelled head. Far below her voice was heard crying
to Beecot to "Come on"; therefore he followed as quickly as he could,
and soon found himself in the cellar. All around was dark, but Deborah
lighted a couple of flaring gas-jets, and then turned, with her arms
akimbo, on the visitor.

"Now then, sir, you and me must have a talk, confidential like," said
she in her breathless way. "It's pawning is it? By which I knows that
you ain't brought that overbearing pa of yours to his knees."

Paul sat down in a clumsy mahogany chair, which stood near a plain deal
table, and stared at the handmaiden. "I never told you about my father,"
he said, exhibiting surprise.

"Oh, no, of course not"--Miss Junk tossed her head--"me being a babe an'
a suckling, not fit to be told anything. But you told Miss Sylvia and
she told me, as she tells everything to her Debby, God bless her for a
pretty flower!" She pointed a coarse, red finger at Paul. "If you were a
gay deceiver, Mr. Beecot, I'd trample on your corp this very minute if I
was to die at Old Bailey for the doing of it."

Seeing Deborah was breathless again, Paul seized his chance. "There is
no reason you shouldn't know all about me, and--"

"No, indeed, I should think not, begging your pardon, sir. But when you
comes here six months back, I ses to Miss Sylvia, I ses, 'He's making
eyes at you, my lily,' and she ses to me, she says, 'Oh, Debby, I love
him, that I do.' And then I ses, ses I, 'My pretty, he looks a gent born
and bred, but that's the wust kind, so we'll find out if he's a liar
before you loses your dear heart to him.'"

"But I'm not a liar--" began Paul, only to be cut short again.

"As well I knows," burst out Miss Junk, her arms akimbo again. "Do you
think, sir, as I'd ha' let you come loving my pretty one and me not
knowing if you was Judas or Jezebel? Not me, if I never drank my nightly
drop of beer again. What you told Miss Sylvia of your frantic pa and
your loving ma she told me. Pumping _you_ may call it," shouted Deborah,
emphasising again with the red finger, "but everything you told in your
lover way she told her old silly Debby. I ses to Bart, if you loves me,
Bart, go down to Wargrove, wherever it may be--if in England, which I