When she was dead Lambetti was dead too.  He had lived his life fast, and, if gold be of worth, it seemed as if he had lived it to some purpose.  Lambetti left money to the town, money for two purposes which in due time the long-headed townsmen carried into effect.  An asylum was built upon the moor; it is called ’Betty Lamb’s Home for the Young and the Aged.’  The old Abbey also was walled in; lawns and flower beds were spread about the broken stones, and where the walls might totter they were supported.  The honour of this change too is ascribed to the famous son of Betty Lamb, who had no name but his mother’s.

XI

THE SOUL OF A MAN

CHAPTER I

A man was standing on one of the highroads in the south of Gloucestershire.  He was a man of science; his tools and specimens were in his hand, and he was leaning against the wayside paling, enjoying a well-earned rest.  A long flock of birds fluttered over the autumn fields; beneath them a slow ploughman trudged with his horses, breaking the yellow stubble.  The sky hung low, full of sunshine yet full of haze—­an atmosphere of blue flame, and the earth was bright with the warm autumn colours of woods and hedgerow.

Just as the birds were flying past, a young woman came by upon the road, treading with quick powerful step upon the fallen leaves.  She was a poor woman; her beauty, which would have been almost perfect in a simpler gown, was marred by garments cut in cheap conformity to fashionable dress.  It could not be hidden, however, and her large symmetrical figure, swinging as she walked, attracted the attention of the man; as he stood there, leaning against the paling, he felt by no means disinclined to while away his hour of rest by a few soft words with the comely stranger.  If he had put his thoughts into words, he would have held it as good luck that she had come to amuse his leisure, thinking very little about luck as it concerned her.  His dog lying at his feet stirred to look at the woman, and the man, following the same instinct of nature, accosted her.

‘Can you tell me, my girl, what time it is?’

She stopped short and looked at him.  ‘That I can’t, sir,’ she said in clear hearty tones, and turned to continue her walk.

’But tell me what time you think it is, my good girl; I am not good at reading the sun.’

She turned again, and looked at him with a longer pause, but, if there was suspicion or disapproval in her thoughts, she expressed nothing in her face.

’Yer a gent; I’d ’a thought ye’d ‘a had a watch.’

‘But mine is at the watchmaker’s getting mended,’ he said with a smile.  He was neither young nor handsome, but he was clever, and that goes further than either in dealing with a woman.

She still stood staring at him in rude independence.

’The shadows is longer ‘an they was a while by; mebbe it’s three.’