And the surgeon looked at him; but there rose up in his remembrance
how _he_ had been avoiding betrayal for years. "Who is he?"
"Willy Gum."
Lord Hartledon turned his head sharply under cover of the surgeon's
umbrella, for they were walking along together. A thought crossed him
that the words might be a jest.
"Yes, Pike is Willy Gum," continued Mr. Hillary. "And there you have the
explanation of the poor mother's nervous terrors. I do pity her. The
clerk has taken it more philosophically, and seemed only to care lest the
fact should become known. Ah, poor thing! what a life hers has been! Her
fears of the wild neighbour, her basins for cats, are all explained now.
She dreaded lest Calne should suspect that she occasionally stole into
the shed under cover of the night with the basins containing food for its
inmate. There the man has lived--if you can call such an existence
living; Willy Gum, concealed by his borrowed black hair and whiskers. But
that he was only a boy when he went away, Calne would have recognized him
in spite of them."
"And he is not a poacher and a snarer, and I don't know what all, leading
a lawless life, and thieving for his living?" exclaimed Lord Hartledon,
the first question that rose to the surface, amidst the many that were
struggling in his mind.
"I don't believe the man has touched the worth of a pin belonging to
any one since he came here, even on your preserves.
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