and our master, it was said, had engaged him
for three years certain, at such wages as none
of our own people, however skilful, could hope
to command. It was about the beginning or
middle of September when he first came among
us. He looked very young; was small, dark,
and well made; had little white soft hands, and
a silky moustache; and spoke English nearly
as well as I do. None of us liked him; but
that was only natural, seeing how he was put
over the head of every Englishman in the place.
Besides, though he was always smiling and
civil, we couldn't help seeing that he thought
himself ever so much better than the rest of us;
and that was not pleasant. Neither was it
pleasant to see him strolling about the town,
dressed just like a gentleman, when working
hours were over; smoking good cigars, when
we were forced to be content with, a pipe of
common tobacco; hiring a horse on Sunday
afternoons, when we were trudging a-foot; and
taking his pleasure as if the world was made for
him to enjoy, and us to work in.

"Ben, boy," said George, " there's something
wrong about that Frenchman."

It was on a Saturday afternoon, and we
were sitting on a pile of empty seggars against
the door of my furnace-room, waiting till the
men should all have cleared out of the yard.
Seggars are deep earthen boxes in which the
pottery is put, while being fired in the kiln.

I looked up, inquiringly.

"About the Count?" said I, for that was the
nickname by which he went in the pottery.

George nodded, and paused for a moment
with his chin resting on his palms.

"He has an evil eye," said he; " and a false
smile. Something wrong about him."

I drew nearer, and listened to George as if he
had been an oracle.

"Besides," added he, in his slow quiet way,
with his eyes fixed straight before him as if he
was thinking aloud, " there's a young look about
him that isn't natural. Take him just at sight,
and you'd think he was almost a boy; but look
close at him—see the little fine wrinkles under
his eyes, and the hard lines about his mouth,
and then tell me his age, if you can! Why, Ben
boy, he's as old as I am, pretty near; ay, and
as strong, too. You stare; but I tell you that,
slight as he looks, he could fling you over his
shoulder as if you were a feather. And as for his
hands, little and white as they are, there are
muscles of iron inside them, take my word for it."

"But, George, how can you know?"

"Because 1 have a warning against him,"
replied George, very gravely. " Because,
whenever he is by, I feel as if my eyes saw clearer,
and my ears heard keener, than at other times.
Maybe it's presumption, but I sometimes feel as
if I had a call to guard myself and others against
him. Look at the children, Ben, how they
shrink away from him; and see there, now!
Ask Captain what he thinks of him! Ben, that
dog likes him no better than I do."

I looked, and saw Captain crouching by his
kennel with his ears laid back, growling audibly,
as the Frenchman came slowly down the steps
leading from his own workshop at the upper
end of the yard. On the last step he paused;
lighted a cigar; glanced round, as if to see
whether any one was by; and then walked straight
over to within a couple of yards of the kennel.
Captain gave a short angry snarl, and laid his
muzzle close down upon his paws, ready for a
spring. The Frenchman folded his arms
deliberately, fixed his eyes on the dog, and stood
calmly smoking. He knew exactly how far he
dared go, and kept just that one foot out of harm's
way. All at once he stooped, puffed a mouthful
of smoke in the dog's eyes, burst into a mocking
laugh, turned lightly on his heel, and walked
away; leaving Captain straining at his chain,
and barking after him like a mad creature.

Days went by, and I, at work in my own department,
saw no more of the Count. Sunday came—
the third, I think, after I had talked with George
in the yard. Going with George to chapel, as
usual, in the morning, I noticed that there was
something strange and anxious in his face, and
that he scarcely opened his lips to me on the way.
Still I said nothing. It was not my place to
question him; and I remember thinking to
myself that the cloud would all clear off as soon as
he found himself by Leah's side, holding the
same book, and joining in the same hymn. It
did not, however, for no Leah was there. I
looked every moment to the door, expecting to
see her sweet face coming in; but George never
lifted his eyes from his book, or seemed to
notice that her place was empty. Thus the
whole service went by, and my thoughts
wandered continually from the words of the preacher.
As soon as the last blessing was spoken, and we
were fairly across the threshold, 1 turned to
George, and asked if Leah was ill?

"No," said he, gloomily. " She's not ill."

"Then why wasn't she—?"

"I'll tell you why," he interrupted,
impatiently. " Because you've seen her here for the
last time. She's never coming to chapel again."

"Never coming to the chapel again?" I
faltered, laying my hand on his sleeve in the
earnestness of my surprise. " Why, George,
what is the matter?"

But he shook my hand off, and stamped with
his iron heel till the pavement rang again.

"Don't ask me," said he, roughly. " Let me
alone. You'll know soon enough."

And with this he turned off down a by-lane
leading towards the hills, and left me without
another word.

I had had plenty of hard treatment in my
time; but never, until that moment, an angry
look or syllable from George. I did not
know how to bear it. That day my dinner
seemed as if it would choke me; and in
the afternoon I went out and wandered
restlessly about the fields till the hour for evening
prayers came round. I then returned to the
chapel, and sat down on a tomb outside, waiting
for George. I saw the congregation go in by twos
and threes; I heard the first psalm-tune echo
solemnly through the evening stillness; but no