Within the house was Mrs. Kite. She had put together her few valuables in an oak chest, and sat on it, near her hearth, with her feet on the hearthstone and her arms folded. She would not move. The house might be dismantled about her, but there she would remain to the last. Mr. Macduff entered the cottage, and received a scowl from Thomasine as he passed her. He endeavoured, but in vain, to persuade the woman to come outside. “But,” said Mr. Macduff, “they’re about to pu’ the roof down over your head.” Mrs. Kite made no answer. Then he became angry, and ordered two masons to enter the ruin and remove the old woman; but this they were afraid to do. They pretended that the reason was lest she should bring an action against them; really, lest she should “overlook” them; that is, cast an evil eye upon them. “I’ll give half a sovereign to any who will bring her out,” offered the agent. The men shrugged their shoulders, and a miner who was lounging against a tree in the rear muttered, “If you’re so anxious to get her out, you and his lordship had best drag her out yourselves.” “Begin with the demolition,” ordered Macduff. The workmen scrambled on the roof, and commenced tearing off the old, thin and rotten thatch, beginning at the end furthest removed from that where the old woman sat. A few groans and exclamations of “shame!” issued from the lookers-on. As the thatch was being riven away, plaster from the rotten ceiling fell, and with it drifts of straw, into the cottage. Dust rose, thick and blinding, but Mrs. Kite refused to stir. She would stifle there rather than desert her hearth. Again Macduff went to the door to expostulate. The woman answered with a snarl as a wild beast worried in its lair. “Go on,” shouted Macduff to the men. Then suddenly a tie-beam gave way, and fell through, with a crash, to the cottage floor. Immediately ensued a rush of lookers-on to the cottage door and windows, but the dust drave out in their faces, thick as steam, preventing them from seeing anything. But, though Patience could not be seen, her voice was heard muttering behind the fog of lime and dust of rotten wood. Macduff did not relish his task. Lord Lamerton was not present; he had gone to a ploughing match, where he was to distribute the prizes. If my lord had been at home, the agent would have asked for further directions; but, as he was away, he felt bound to proceed according to his orders. The workmen engaged on the roof now discovered that their lunch hour had arrived, and they descended the ladders with alacrity to regale themselves on the cake and cold tea they had brought with them. The pause allowed the dust to clear away, and Macduff, looking through the doorway, descried Mrs. Kite, powdered with lime, her hair almost white, still crouched on her box in the same place, resting her chin in her hands, and her elbows on her knees.