and
must come to an end. The last day of the year--so be it. After that
Polly should have her way.

It was the middle of Christmas week. A letter to the Bilboes remained
without answer. Gammon and Polly met every day, excited each other,
lost their tempers, were stormily reconciled. On the morning of the
thirty-first Gammon received four letters begging for pecuniary
assistance, but nothing from Greenacre. He had slept badly, his
splendid health was beginning to suffer. By jorrocks! there should be
an end of this, and that quickly.

As he loitered without appetite over a particularly greasy breakfast,
listening to Mrs. Bubb's description of an ailment from which her
youngest child was suffering, Moggie came into the kitchen and said
that a young man wished to see him. Gammon rushed up to the front door,
where, in mist and drizzle, stood a muscular youth whom he did not
recognize.

"I'm come from Mrs. Clover's, sir," said this messenger, touching his
hat. "She'd be very glad to see you as soon as you could make it
convenient to look round."

"Is that all?"

That was all; nothing more could be learnt from the young man, and
Gammon promised to come forthwith. Luckily he could absent himself from
Quodlings' to-day with no great harm; so after a few words with Mrs.
Bubb he pulled on his greatcoat and set off by the speediest way. Only
after starting did he remember his promise to Polly. That could not be
helped. The case seemed to be urgent, and he must beg for indulgence.
He had an appointment with Polly for six o'clock this evening. In the
excitement of decisive action (it being the last day of the year) she
would probably overlook this small matter.

He found Mrs. Clover in the shop. She reddened at sight of him, and
after a hurried greeting asked him to step into the parlour, where she
carefully closed the door.

"Mr. Gammon, have you heard anything about my husband?"

The question disconcerted him; he tried ineffectually to shape a denial.

"You have, I can see you have! It doesn't matter. I don't want you to
tell me anything. But he's now in this house."

She was greatly agitated, not angry, but beset by perplexities and
distress.

"He came last night about ten o'clock--came to the door wrapped up like
a stranger--it was almost too much for me when I heard his voice. He
wanted to come in--to stay; and of course I let him. Minnie had to
know, poor girl. He's in the spare room. Did you know he meant to com