"Count it," she said, "but count it slow, so that I can follow you. It's a bonny sight, a bonny sight, lass, and worth an old woman's gathering, eh? It shall be yours some day, yours and Lucy's. You'll divide it equally, Barbara, between yourself and Lucy when I'm gone. Joel Hart doesn't need his share now. I never loved Lucy much; still, she's blood of my blood, and bone of my bone. I'll deal fair by her. How much was that, Barbara? One hundred pounds! One hundred pounds! Put it in this bag and tie it up tightly." Barbara counted the money. She was not able to repress a feeling of regret when she thought of the difference it would have made to her sister's life and her own, if it had been used, instead of hoarded up in the bridewain, and only taken out at night for a bedridden old woman to gloat over. Now Lucy did not want it, and Barbara had no desire to possess more than her needs demanded. The tinkle of the coins was heard in the kitchen for some time. When they were all counted they were restored to their bags, and put away. The bridewain was locked, and Mistress Lynn again hid the key in the bed beside her. "You'll find it when I's gone, Barbara," she said, and, with a satisfied smile, shut her eyes. The exertion had tired her, but her mind was at rest, for she was dying a rich woman. It was nearly dawn, and, though it was wet and cold, there was a feeling of spring in the air. The uplands were still white with snow, but it had begun to vanish from the dale, and green grass showed here and there, a welcome sight after the weary weeks of winter. A few venturesome birds sang in the copse. Jess came stealing into the kitchen, wondering if death had yet snatched away the imperious spirit from its withered body. But Mistress Lynn was asleep or unconscious, Barbara was not sure which. So the work of the day begun, which must continue, come life or death. The cows were milked, the fowls fed, and the hinds went out to look after the sheep. But Barbara did not leave the kitchen. The grey day passed monotonously. The song of the beck grew louder, as it was fed by the melting snows, and the cliffs behind the house ran with water. Rain poured steadily down, washing bare the fells, and streaking them with thin white lines, where the waking cataracts began to leap. Barbara brought a chair to the bedside, and sat down, her hands clasped idly on her knee. Mistress Lynn did not stir.