and I got ’ee—spite o’ William Strick.

VASHTI (startled). Willie! What’s it to do with he ?

JAMES (grimly). ’Ansome Cousin Willie. (Eyeing her keenly.) You an’ he were night swettards wance—— I reckon.

VASHTI (quickly). An’——if we were ‘? (Turns away to fire.) He didn’t get me. S0 lave un be.

JAMES (slowly). Iss. Lave un be.

VASHTI (crossing to window-seat). You’m got the uglies this evenin’, I should say. Think of the Doctor over to Truro——what he’ll do for ’ee.

JAMES. He can’t make me fit for work.

VASHTI (rather impatiently). Work! Simme that’s all you think on. (Takes up work-basket, and begins darning a sock.)

JAMES. An’ what better ? (He sits down again and inserting the long spout of the feeding-cup through the hole of the mask, he drinks.)

VASHTI. Iss. I do believe you think that. Some- times, James Glasson, I wonder for what you wanted to take a Wife. ’Twas to your work you were wed. You always thought first on that.

JAMES. Work! Yes—I did care on that. Findin’ out the secrets of the earth—forcin’ out her treasure—her silver an’ tin. (To himself.) My soul! But I was findin’ a way that night. (He is lost in thought.)

VASHTI. The night of your accident ‘.7 (She goes and sits by the fire, watching him.)

JAMES (nodding). Iss. (Raising his voice.) When I think of how I was goin’ to see manager—an’theychaps from London town-an’ show ’em how I was findin’ out the way to get silver cheap! What! There’d have been work made for men ef I could ha’ gone on. . . . All these dumb an’ blind mines come to life agen. . . . (He speaks as one seeing visions, then breaks ofi’ sz d- denly, and buries his face in his hands on the table, then raises it again.) But ’tes auver-Jtes all auver—now. (He rises and goes towards her, changing his tone to one of hideous, sardonic pleasanrry.) VlelL-now I can give all my time to my lovin’ wife. No more work. All