'I couldn't very well help doing that,' he replied, unable to resolve how it were best to speak, and uttering the first words that came, carelessly. 'Then he knows you have discovered--' Her voice failed. Such explanation of her father's absence was a new terror. 'Yes, he knows,' Dagworthy answered, cruelty resuming its fascination. 'I couldn't keep him at the mill, you know, though I let him off his punishment.' 'You dismissed him?' 'I did. It's not too late to have him back, and something better.' 'Let me go!' she said hoarsely. He moved from the door; sight of such misery vanquished even him. When she reached home, her mother was standing with two or three neighbours in front of the house at the sight of Emily there were exclamations of relief and welcome. 'My child, where can you have been?' Mrs. Hood cried, following the girl who passed the garden-gate without pausing. 'Is father come?' was the reply. 'No, not yet. But where have you been? Why, you were coming from the Heath, Emily, in the night air, and you so ill!' 'I have been to ask Mr. Dagworthy,' Emily said in a tired voice. 'He knows nothing of him.' Her strength bore her into the parlour, then she sank upon the couch and closed her eyes. Mrs. Hood summoned the help of her friends. Unresisting, with eyes still closed, silent, she was carried upstairs and laid in her bed. Her mother sat by her. Midnight came, and Hood did not return. Already Mrs. Hood had begun to suspect something mysterious in Emily's anxiety; her own fears now became active. She went to the front door and stood there with impatience, by turns angry and alarmed. Her husband had never been so late. She returned to the bedroom. 'Emily, are you awake, dear?' The girl's eyes opened, but she did not speak. 'Do you know any reason why your father should stay away?' A slight shake of the head was the reply. The deepest stillness of night was upon the house. As Mrs. Hood seated herself with murmured bewailing of such wretchedness, there sounded a heavy crash out on the staircase; it was followed by a peculiar ringing reverberation. Emily rose with a shriek. 'My love--hush! hush!' said her mother. 'It's only the clock-weight fallen. How that does shake my nerves! It did it only last week, and gave me such a start.' Grasping her mother's hand, the girl lay back, death-pale. The silence was deeper than before, for not even the clock ticked.... Dagworthy could not sleep. At sunrise he had wearied himself so with vain efforts to lie still, that he resolved to take a turn across the Heath, and then rest if he felt able to. He rose and went into the still morning air.