“An asylum!” gasped Kate, sobbing with pain and anger.  “Do you think I am mad, then?”

“I don’t think nowt about it,” the man remarked calmly.  “I knows it.”

This was a new light to Kate.  She was so bewildered that she could hardly realize the significance of the remark.

“Who are you?” she said.  “Why is it that you treat me in this cruel way?”

“Ah, now we come to business,” he said, in a satisfied way, crossing his legs, and blowing great wreaths from his pipe.  “This is more like reason.  Who am I? says you.  Well, my name’s Stevens—­Bill Stevens, hesquire, o’ Claxton, in the county o’ Hants.  I’ve been an A.B. in the navy, and I’ve got my pension to show it.  I’ve been in the loon’cy business, too—­was second warder in the suicide ward at Portsmouth for more’n two year.  I’ve been out of a billet for some time, and Muster Girdlestone he came to me and he says, ’You’re William Stevens, hesquire?’ says he.  ‘I am,’ says I.  ‘You’ve had experience o’ loonies?’ says he.  ‘I have,’ says I.  ‘Then you’re the man I want,’ says he.  ‘You shall have a pound a week an’ nothing to do.’  ’The very crib for me,’ says I.  ‘You’ve got to sit at the gate,’ says he, ’and prevent a patient from gettin’ out!’ That was all as he said.  Then you comes down from Lunnon, an’ I comes up from Claxton, and here we be, all snug an’ comfort’ble.  So, you see, missy, it ain’t no use at all, and you’ll never get out this way.”

“But if you let me past he will think that I ran by so quickly that you could not stop me.  He could not be very angry then, and I shall give you more money than you would lose.”

“No, no,” said the man, shaking his head energetically, “I’m true to my colours, sink me, but I am!  I never was bribed yet, and never will be unless you can offer cash down instead o’ promises.  You can’t lay them by to live on in your old age.”

“Alas!” Kate cried, “I have no money except these few shillings.”

“Give them over here, then.”  He put them in his trouser pocket beside the other one.  “That’s all right, missy,” he said, in a beery whisper.  “I won’t say anything now to Muster Girdlestone about this job.  He’d be wild if he knew, but mum’s the word with William Stevens, hesquire.  Lor’, if this ain’t my wife a-comin’ out wi’ my dinner!  Away with ye, away!  If she seed me a-speakin’ to you she’d tear your hair for you as like as not.  She’s jealous, that’s what’s the matter wi’ her.  If she sees a woman makin’ much o’ me, it’s just pisen to her, and she goes for ’em straight.  She’s the one to make the fur fly!  Away with you, I say!”