"Oi am trying to improve myself," Bill said quietly. "Maister Sankey put me in the roight way. He gives me an hour, and sometimes two, every evening. He has been wonderful kind to me, he has; there ain't nothing oi wouldn't do for him."

The sick man moved uneasily.

"No more wouldn't Luke and Polly," Bill went on. "His father gived his loife, you know, for little Jenny. No, there ain't nowt we wouldn't do for him," he continued, glad to turn the subject from that of Stukeley's affection for Polly. "He be one of the best of maisters. Oi would give my life's blood if so be as oi could clear him of that business of Mulready's."

For a minute or two not a word was said. The wind roared round the building, and in the intervals of the gusts the high clock in the corner of the room ticked steadily and solemnly as if distinctly intimating that its movements were not to be hurried by the commotion without.

Stukeley had closed his eyes, and Bill began to hope that he was going to doze off, when he asked suddenly; "Bill, do you know who sent that letter that was read at the trial--I mean the one from the chap as said he done it, and was ready to give himself up if the boy was found guilty?"