‘I am sure he never thought of that,’ cried Rosalie, quickly and resentfully. How could Isaac find it in his heart to think of such things in the face of the overwhelming fact that Richard was gone! ‘Ah, sure he did n’t,’ agreed Isaac. ‘’T is a very bad job! A very bad job indeed; but I suppose there bain’t nothing to be done.’ Rosalie agreed with a sigh. It was too true; there was nothing to be done. CHAPTER IX L’absence est à l’amour Ce qu’est au feu le vent; Il éteint le petit, Mais it allume le grand. SEVERAL days passed, and Richard made no sign. Rosalie went about looking like the ghost of herself. It was known that she was suffering from a very severe attack of neuralgia, which, oddly enough, had first seized her on the very day of Richard Marshall’s sudden departure. Some guileless people believed in the neuralgia—poor Mrs. Fiander did look so very bad, and a body could n’t make believe to be so pale. Others, among whom was Mrs. Belbin, folded their arms and assumed a knowing air. ’T was likely enough, averred this matron, for folks to look pale as had reason to. Mrs. Fiander’s conscience was very likely a-troublin’ o’ she. She was a terrible one for carryin’ on wi’ young men—a-leadin’ of them on, and then a-sendin’ them off wi’out no reason. Her Sam could say somethin’ if he ’d a mind—her Sam did know more than he did like to talk about. Others, again, were of opinion that Mrs. Fiander was just wasting away for love of Mr. Sharpe’s nephew, and that that young man had gone of his own accord, and had not been dismissed by the widow. ’T was n’t very likely, said these sages, that Richard Marshall, who had his own way to make in the world, and who was known to have great expectations from his uncle, would wish to have any unpleasantness with him. In response to the suggestion that the young man would n’t be a-doin’ so very bad for hisself if he and Widow Fiander made a match of it, they returned conclusively that it was quite unpossible for him and Widow Fiander to make a match of it, since her banns were to be given out almost immediately with Farmer Sharpe. Somebody had up and axed Mrs. Fiander when the wedding was to be, and she had answered that the day was not yet fixed, but that the wedding was to take place as agreed at the end of July. Isaac heard none of these rumours, but he too wandered about with an unusually lengthy and gloomy face. One day, however, Rosalie, looking out from the darkened room where she was sitting, saw him hastening towards her house with every appearance of excitement, waving a piece of paper in his hand. In a moment she stood on the threshold. ‘You have heard from Richard?’ she cried eagerly. ‘You have had a letter?’ ‘Nay, my dear, I have n’t had no letter,’ panted Isaac, as soon as he was near enough. ‘I ’ve had a graft.’ ‘You have had what?’ inquired Rosalie.