The old man sank weeping on a chair. He was too broken, too exhausted, to revile Bessie any more.
"Yo' tell her, Muster Saunders," he said, "to gie it me back! I'll not ast for all on it, but some on it, Muster Saunders—some on it. She can't 'a spent it. She must 'a got it somewhere. Yo' speak to her, Muster Saunders. It's a crule thing to rob an old man like me—an' her own mother's brother. Yo' speak to 'er—an' yo', too, Mary Anne."
He looked piteously from one to the other. But his misery only seemed to goad Bessie to fresh fury. She turned upon him, arms akimbo.
"Oh! an' of course it must be me as robs yer! It couldn't be nobody else, could it? There isn't tramps, an' thieves, an' rogues—'undreds of 'em—going about o' nights? Nary one, I believe yer! There isn't another thief in Clinton Magna, nobbut Bessie Costrell, is ther? But yer'll not blackguard me for nothin', I can tell yer. Now will yer jest oblige me by takin' yourselves off? I shall 'ave to clean up after yer"—she pointed scornfully to the marks of their muddy boots on the floor—"an' it's gettin' late."
"One moment, Mrs. Costrell," said Saunders, gently rubbing his hands. "With your leave, John and I 'ull just inspeck the cupboard _hup_stairs before leavin'—an' then we'll clear out double quick. But we'll 'ave one try if we can't 'it on somethin' as 'ull show 'ow the thief got in—with your leave, of coorse."
Bessie hesitated; then she threw some spoons she held into the water beside her with a violent gesture.
"Go where yer wants," she said, and returned to her washing.
Saunders began to climb the narrow stairs, with John behind him. But the smith's small eyes had a puzzled look.
"There's somethin' rum," he said to himself. "'Ow did she spend it all? 'As she been carryin' on with some one be'ind Isaac's back, or is Isaac in it too? It's one or t'other."
Meanwhile, Bessie, left behind, was consumed by a passionate effort of memory. What had she done with the key the night before, after she had locked the cupboard? Her brain was blurred. The blow—the fall—seemed to have confused even the remembrance of the scene with Timothy. How was it, for instance, that she had put the box back in the wrong place? She put her hand to her head, trying in an anguish to recollect the exact details.