'You will say a word for me to Glory.'
'Rely on me, Elijah. None has been so good to me as you. None has given me anything for my chill but you. But Mehalah will find it out, I reckon; she suspects already.'
He paid no heed to her words.
'So she is not mine, nor the house, nor the marshes, nor the saltings, nor the fish and fowl!' he muttered derisively to himself.
'I paid eight hundred pounds for the Ray and all that therein is,' he continued, 'let alone what I paid the lawyer.' He rubbed his hands. Then he rose again, and took his gun.
'I'm off,' he said, and strode to the door.
At the same moment Mehalah appeared at it, her face clear and smiling. She looked handsomer than ever.
'Well!' snarled Rebow, arresting her, 'what did he give you?'
'That is no concern of yours,' answered the girl, and she tried to pass. He put his fowling piece across the door and barred the way.
'What did he give you?' he asked in his dogged manner.
'I might refuse to answer,' she said carelessly, 'but I do not mind your knowing; the whole Ray and Mersea, and the world outside may know. This!' She produced an Indian red silk kerchief, which she flung over her shoulders and knotted under her chin. With her rich complexion, hazel eyes, dark hair and scarlet cap, lit by the red fire flames, she looked a gipsy, and splendid in her beauty. Rebow dropped his gun, thrust her aside with a sort of mad fury, and flung himself out of the door.
'He is gone at last!' said the girl with a gay laugh.
Rebow put his head in again. His lips were drawn back and his white teeth glistened.
'You will pay the rent next Thursday. I give no grace.'
Then he shut the door and was gone.
CHAPTER II.
THE RHYN.
'Mother,' said Mehalah, 'are you better now?'
'Yes, the fit is off me, but I am left terribly weak.'
'Mother, will you give me the medal?'
'What? Your grandmother's charm? You cannot want it!'
'It brings luck, and saves from sudden death. I wish to give it to George.'
'No, Mehalah! This will not do. You must keep it yourself.'
'It is mine, is it not?'
'No, child; it is promised you, but it is not yours yet. You shall have it some future day.'
'I want it at once, that I may give it to George. He has made me a present of this red kerchief for my neck, and he has given me many another remembrance, but I have made him no return. I have nothing that I can give him save that medal. Let me have it.'
'It must not go out of the family, Mehalah.'
'It will not. You know what is between George and me.'
The old woman hesitated and excused herself, but was so much in the habit of yielding to her daughter, that she was unable in this matter to maintain her opposition. She submitted reluctantly, and crept out of the room to fetch the article demanded of her.
When she returned, she found Mehalah standing before the fire with her back to the embers, and her hands knitted behind her, looking at the floor, lost in thought.
'There it is,' grumbled the old woman. 'But I don't like to part with it; and it must not go out of the family. Keep it yourself, Mehalah, and give it away to none.'
The girl took the coin. It was a large silver token, the size of a crown, bearing on the face a figure of Mars in armour, with shield and brandished sword, between the zodiacal signs of the Ram and the Scorpion.
The reverse was gilt, and represented a square divided into five-and-twenty smaller squares, each containing a number, so that the sum in each row, taken either vertically or horizontally, was sixty-five. The medal was undoubtedly foreign. Theophrastus Paracelsus, in his 'Archidoxa,' published in the year 1572, describes some such talisman, gives instructions for its casting, and says: 'This seal or token gives him who carries it about him strength and security and victory in all battles, protection in all perils. It enables him to overcome his enemies and counteract their plots.'
The medal held by the girl belonged to the sixteenth century. Neither she nor her mother had ever heard of Paracelsus, and knew nothing of his 'Archidoxa.' The figures on the face passed their comprehension. The mystery of the square on the reverse had never been discovered by them. They knew only that the token was a charm, and that family tradition held it to secure the wearer against sudden death by violence.
A hole was drilled through the piece, and a strong silver ring inserted. A broad silk riband of faded blue passed through the ring, so that the medal might be worn about the neck. For a few moments Mehalah studied the mysterious figures by the fire-light, then flung the riband round her neck, and hid the coin and its perplexing symbols in her bosom.
'I must light a candle,' she said; then she stopped by the table on her way across the room, and took up the glass upon it.
'Mother,' she said sharply; 'who has been drinking here?'
The old woman pretended not to hear the question, and began to poke the fire.
'Mother, has Elijah Rebow been drinking spirits out of this glass?'
'To be sure, Mehalah, he did just take a drop.'
'Whence did he get it?'
'Don't you think it probable that such a man as he, out much on the marshes, should carry a bottle about with him? Most men go provided against the chill who can afford to do so.'
'Mother,' said the girl impatiently, 'you are deceiving me. I know he got the spirits here, and that you have had them here for some time. I insist on being told how you came by them.'
The old woman made feeble and futile attempts to evade answering her daughter directly; but was at last forced to confess that on two occasions, of which this evening was one, Elijah Rebow had brought her a small keg of rum.
'You do not grudge it me, Mehalah, do you? It does me good when I am low after my fits.'
'I do not grudge it you,' answered the girl; 'but I do not choose you should receive favours from that man. He has to-day been threatening us, and yet secretly he is making you presents. Why does he come here?' She looked full in her mother's face. 'Why does he give you these spirits? He, a man who never did a good action but asked a return in fourfold measure. I promise you, mother, if he brings here any more, that I will stave in the cask and let the liquor you so value waste away.'
The widow made piteous protest, but her daughter remained firm.
'Now,' said the girl, 'this point is settled between us. Be sure I will not go back from my word. I will in nothing be behoven to the man I abhor. Now let me count the money.' She caught up the bag, then put it down again. She lit a candle at the hearth, drew her chair to the table, seated
