He half persuaded, half propelled the still weeping widow across the yard and into his kitchen, where, sitting down near the table and covering her face with her hands under the heavy crape veil, she continued to sob until her host was nearly distracted. ‘Here, my dear, take a sup o’ this, ’t will do ye good.’ Rosalie threw back her veil and took the glass which he offered her. Raising it to her lips, she found that the dark decoction which it contained was excessively strong, unusually acid, and unspeakably nasty. Fresh tears, not prompted by sorrow this time, started to her eyes as she set down the glass. ‘Thank you, Mr. Sharpe,’ she said; ‘I am better now. I don’t think I’ll finish it. It seems very strong.’ ‘Ah, it’s that,’ agreed the farmer with some pride. ‘Sloe wine Bithey d’ call it; she do make a quart every year. Wonderful good for the spasms, or sich-like. She do get taken that way sometimes in her in’ards, pore old soul! an’ she says a drop o’ this do al’ays set her to rights. Sloe wine! ah, that’s what it be called; ye’d scarce think ’twere made o’ nought but the snags what grows in the hedges—jist snags an’ a trifle o’ sugar. But I do assure ye ’t is that strong ’t will sometimes lift the cork out o’ the bottle. Now, Mrs. Fiander, ye’d best finish it; ’t is a pity to let the good stuff go to waste.’ But, as Rosalie gratefully but firmly declined, the worthy man appeased his thrifty conscience by draining the glass himself. ‘Well now, Mrs. Fiander,’ he resumed, as he set it down, ‘I be trewly sorry that ye be so vexed an’ ann’yed wi’ the men comin’ so late; but, if I may advise ’ee, be a bit stiff wi’ ’em; don’t ’ee let ’em fancy they can impose upon ’ee because ye be a woman.’ ‘I assure you, Mr. Sharpe, I showed them very plainly that I was vexed this morning. I spoke as severely as I could.’ ‘Lard, my dear, them chaps don’t care for words; more pertic’lar a woman’s words. Bless you! they’ve all got women-folks o’ their own, an’ they be well used to scoldin’. ’T is different wi’ us men; when we be angry we can _dang_ here and there, and use a bit o’ language. Then, d’ ye see,’ said Isaac, leaning forward confidentially, ‘the chaps understand as we be in earnest; but ’t ’ud be no manner o’ good your tryin’ to do that, my dear; ’t would n’t come nat’ral to ’ee, and they would n’t think a bit the better of ’ee for it. Nay, nay,’ he repeated mournfully, ‘they wouldn’t think the better of ’ee.’ A faint smile hovered round Rosalie’s lips, but Isaac remained quite serious. ‘A woman must show by her deeds that she be in earnest,’ he went on after a pause. ‘’T is the only way, my dear. Deeds and not words for a woman!’