Rosalie could hardly have defined the motive which prompted her visit; her desolate heart felt the need of sympathy; in this strange new life of hers she yearned to find herself once more, if but for a moment, in touch with the past. ‘No, Mr. Sharpe,’ she said with a little gasp, ‘I don’t think there’s anything you can do for me. I only came because I—I—oh, Mr. Sharpe, everything is going wrong!’ Isaac Sharpe took out his pipe and opened his eyes very wide. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘come—tell me what be the matter.’ ‘Everything’s the matter,’ returned the widow in a shaking voice. ‘Oh, Isaac, I can’t get on without Elias!’ ‘Can’t ’ee now, my dear?’ returned Isaac, blinking very hard. ‘Well, I’m sure ’t is nat’ral.’ Rosalie gave a little sob, and the farmer, stretching out a large brown hand, patted her arm soothingly. ‘Don’t ’ee take on, though,’ he said. ‘Nay now, don’t ’ee take on, my dear. Cryin’ never did nobody no good.’ ‘I’m so lonely,’ went on the girl brokenly. ‘I miss him at every turn.’ ‘Ye’d be like to do that,’ responded Sharpe judicially. ‘Dear, yes—ye’d be like to do that.’ ‘Everything is at sixes and sevens,’ she pursued plaintively. ‘The men think they can do just as they like; it was eight o’clock before they began their mowing this morning.’ ‘Well, I never!’ ejaculated Isaac. ‘Eight o’clock! What be the world comin’ to?’ ‘The very maids won’t get up,’ continued Rosalie. ‘This was churning morning, and it was after five before anybody moved. None of the men came near the place until six; the cows were left in the pasture, none of the beasts were fed!’ ‘Shockin’! shockin’!’ commented the farmer. ‘Dear heart alive! I never heard o’ sich doin’s!’ ‘When I speak to them,’ cried Rosalie, her voice rising with the recollection of her wrongs, ‘they turn round and tell me they are all too much upset to think of work.’ ‘Do they now?’ in tones of deep disgust. ‘Well, an’ that’s a pretty story!’ ‘Yes. And you know, Mr. Sharpe, ’t is the last thing Elias would have wished—that the work should be neglected and everything allowed to go wrong like this; yet they seem to think me heartless for expecting things to go on as before. And the worst of it all is’—here poor Rosalie began to weep hysterically—‘they don’t any of them believe that I am sorry for Elias, and they think I’m going to marry again; and, and—two hateful, odious, impudent young men have already come to court me.’ Her sobs well-nigh choked her as she made this last announcement; and Isaac, full of concern, fell to patting her arm again. ‘Don’t ’ee now, my dear, don’t ’ee. Well, ’t is very annoyin’ for ’ee, I’m sure. There, don’t ’ee cry so. Well, well! to think on’t! Started coortin’ a’ready, have they? Well, they mid ha’ waited a bit! But come in a minute, do ’ee, Mrs. Fiander, and sit ’ee down. Dear heart alive! dear heart alive! poor Elias ’ud be terrible upset if he were to see ye a-givin’ way like this.’