ourse, Lambert, not knowing that Chaldea had been listening to the
conversation in the cottage, believed that the girl was ignorant of the
true state of affairs, and he wondered how he could inform her that the
actual criminal was known without risking her malignity. He wanted to
clear his character and that of his wife; likewise he wished to save the
family name. But it seemed to him that the issue of these things lay in
the hands of Chaldea, and she was bent upon injuring him if she could.
It was all very perplexing.

It was at this point of his meditation that Mother Cockleshell arrived
at the inn. He heard her jovial voice outside and judged from its tone
that the old dame was in excellent spirits. Her visit seemed to be a
hint from heaven as to what he should do. Gentilla hated Chaldea and
loved Agnes, so Lambert felt that she would be able to help him. As soon
as possible he had her brought into the sitting room, and, having made
her sit down, closed both the door and the window, preparatory to
telling her all that he had learned. The conversation was, indeed, an
important one, and he was anxious that it should take place without
witnesses.

"You _are_ kind, sir," said Mother Cockleshell, who had been supplied
with a glass of gin and water. "But it ain't for the likes of me to be
sitting down with the likes of you."

"Nonsense! We must have a long talk, and I can't expect you to stand all
the time--at your age."

"Some Gentiles ain't so anxious to save the legs of old ones," remarked
Gentilla Stanley cheerfully. "But I always did say as you were a golden
one for kindness of heart. Well, them as does what's unexpected gets
what they don't hope for."

"I have got my heart's desire, Mother," said Lambert, sitting down and
lighting his pipe. "I am happy now."

"Not as happy as you'd like to be, sir," said the old woman, speaking
quite in the Gentile manner, and looking like a decent charwoman.
"You've a dear wife, as I don't deny, Mr. Lambert, but money is what
you want."

"I have enough for my needs."

"Not for her needs, sir. She should be wrapped in cloth of gold and have
a path of flowers to tread upon."

"It's a path of thorns just now," muttered Lambert moodily.

"Not for long, sir; not for long. I come to put the crooked straight and
to raise a lamp to banish the dark. Very good this white satin is," said
Mother Cockleshell irrelevantly, and alluding to the gin. "And terbaccer
goes well with it, as