“The poor soul’s had an accident, or an op’ration or somethin’,” said Mrs. Hall. “What a turn them bandages did give me

She put on some more coal, unfolded the clothe–horse, and extended the traveller’s coat upon this. “And they goggles! Why, he looked more like a divin’ ’elmet

She turned round, as one who suddenly remembers. “Bless my soul alive!”

When Mrs. Hall went to clear away the stranger’s lunch her idea that his mouth must also have been cut or disfigured in the accident she supposed him to have suffered was confirmed, for he was smoking a pipe, and all the time that she was in the room he never loosened the silk muffler he had wrapped round the lower part of his face to put the mouthpiece to his lips. Yet it was not forgetfulness, for she saw he glanced at the tobacco as it smouldered out. He sat in the corner with his back to the window–blind, and spoke now, having eaten and drunk and being comfortably warmed through, with less aggressive brevity than before. The reflection of the fire lent a kind of red animation to his big spectacles they had lacked hitherto.

“I have some luggage,” he said, “at Bramblehurst Station,” and he asked her how he could have it sent. He bowed his bandaged head quite politely in acknowledgment of her explanation. “To–morrow!” he said. “There is no speedier delivery?” and seemed disappointed when she answered “No.” “Was she quite sure? No man with a trap who would go over?”

Mrs. Hall, nothing loath, answered his questions, and then developed a conversation. “It’s a steep road by the down, sir,” she said, in answer to the question about a trap; and then snatching at an opening

But the visitor was not to be drawn so easily.