re than one or two. But the story that
was dead for other people was still alive to her, and as fresh and
young--now that it was back in its native air again--as if it had been
an affair of yesterday. It was something of a task to her to pass
the house in which the faithless lover lived. It would be the first
achievement of that feat since Ezra had treated her so shamelessly, and
it was almost as difficult after six-and-twenty years as it might have
been after as many days.

She clinched her lips tightly as she came in sight of the tall poplars
which stood beyond the spire of the church, and rose to an equal
height with it, and at the lich-gate of the church she paused a little,
feigning to take interest in one or two tombstones which recorded the
death of people she had known. Her troubled eyes took no note of the
inscriptions, but in a while she found resolution Jo go on again. With
her little figure drawn uncompromisingly to its fullest height, she
rounded the corner of the church-yard and saw the familiar walls. Ezra,
contrary to his habit, was standing at the side door and looking out
upon the street. She was aware of his presence, but walked stiffly past,
disregarding him, and he coughed behind his wasted hand. She thought the
cough had a sound of embarrassed appeal or deprecation, as perhaps it
had, but she refused to take notice of it, except by an added rigidity
of demeanor.

Sennacherib's house stood back from the highway a hundred yards or
so beyond Ezra's. It was fenced all round by an ill-trimmed hedge of
hawthorn, and the only break in the hedge was made by the un-painted
wooden gate which led by a brick-paved walk to the three brick steps
before the door. The door stood open when Rachel reached it, and
the knocker being set high up and out of reach, she tapped upon the
wood-work with the handle of her sunshade. This summons eliciting no
response, she repeated it; but by-and-by the opening of a door within
the house let out upon her the sound of Sennacherib's voice, hitherto
audible only as an undefined and surly buzz.

"Who's master i' this house?" Sennacherib was asking--"thee or me?"

"If brag and swagger could ha' made a man the master," said a feminine
voice, in tones of feeble resignation, "theer's no doubt it's you,
Sennacherib."

"Brag and swagger?" said Sennacherib.

"Lord o' mercy!" replied the feminine voice, "what do you want to shout
a body deaf for? Brag and swagger was what I said, Se