, would be blest by her
faithfulness.

CHAPTER XVIII

A COMPACT

On the last day of the year, a Sunday, Dagworthy sat by his fireside,
alone; luncheon had been removed, and decanters stood within his reach.
But the glass of wine which he had poured out, on turning to the fire
half an hour ago, was still untasted, the cigar, of which he had cut the
end, was still between his fingers, unlighted. For the last three months
our friend had not lacked matter for thought; to do him justice, he had
exercised his mind upon it pretty constantly. To-day he had received
news which gave a fresh impulse to his rumination.

Dagworthy had never, since the years of early manhood, cared much for
any of the various kinds of society open to him in Dunfield, and his
failure to show himself at the houses of his acquaintance for weeks
together occasioned no comment; but during these past three months he
had held so persistently aloof that people had at length begun to ask
for an explanation--at all events, when the end of the political turmoil
gave them leisure to think of minor matters once more. The triumphant
return of Mr. Baxendale had naturally led to festive occasions; at one
dinner at the Baxendales' house Dagworthy was present, but, as it
seemed, in the body only. People who, in the provincial way, made old
jokes last a very long time, remarked to each other with a smile that
Dagworthy appeared to be in a mood which promised an item of interest in
the police reports before long. One person there was who had special
reason for observing him closely that evening, and even for inducing him
to converse on certain subjects; this was Mrs. Baxendale. A day or two
previously she had heard a singular story from a friend of hers, which
occupied her thought not a little. It interested her to discover how
Dagworthy would speak of the Hood family, if led to that topic. He did
not seem to care to dwell upon it, and the lady, after her experiment,
imagined that it had not been made altogether in vain.

With that exception Dagworthy had kept to his mill and his house. It was
seldom that he had a visitor, and those persons who did call could
hardly feel that they were desired to come again. Mrs. Jenkins, of the
Done tongue, ruled in the household, and had but brief interviews with
her master; provided that his meals were served at the proper time,
Dagworthy cared to inquire into nothing that went on--outside his
kennels--and even those he