visited in a sullen way. His child he
scarcely saw; Mrs. Jenkins discovered that to bring the 'bairn' into its
father's presence was a sure occasion of wrath, so the son and heir took
lessons in his native tongue from the housekeeper and her dependents,
and profited by their instruction. Dagworthy never inquired about the
boy's health. Once when Mrs. Jenkins, alarmed by certain symptoms of
infantine disorder, ventured to enter the dining-room and broach the
subject, her master's reply was: 'Send for the doctor then, can't you?'
He had formerly made a sort of plaything of the child when in the mood
for it; now he was not merely indifferent--the sight of the boy angered
him. His return home was a signal for the closing of all doors between
his room and the remote nursery. Once, when he heard crying he had
summoned Mrs. Jenkins. 'If you can't stop that noise,' he said, 'or keep
it out of my hearing, I'll send the child to be taken care of in
Hebsworth, or somewhere else further off, and then I'll shut up the
house and send you all about your business. So just mind what I say.'

Of late it had become known that he was about to take a partner into his
business, a member of the Legge family--a name we remember. Dunfieldians
discussed the news, and revived their pleasure in speculating on the sum
total of Dagworthy's fortune. But it was as one talks of possible mines
of treasure in the moon; practical interest in the question could
scarcely be said to exist, for the chance of Dagworthy's remarriage
seemed remoter than ever. The man was beginning to be one of those
figures about whom gathers the peculiar air of mystery which ultimately
leads to the creation of myths. Let him live on in this way for another
twenty years, and stories would be told of him to children in the
nursery. The case of assault and battery, a thing of the far past, would
probably develop into a fable of manslaughter, of murder; his wife's
death was already regarded very much in that light, and would class him
with Bluebeard; his house on the Heath would assume a forbidding aspect,
and dread whispers would be exchanged of what went on there under the
shadow of night. Was it not already beginning to be remarked by his
neighbours that you met him wandering about lonely places at unholy
hours, and that he shunned you, like one with a guilty conscience? Let
him advance in years, his face lose its broad colour, his hair grow
scant and grey, his figure, per chanc