The street fell back into its silence after the small disturbance. Women who had been through the experience gave a moment’s pity to Daisy. Gorwyn, the smith, knocking out his pipe against his hearthstone, reiterated the opinion that Lovel would not be seen again that night. Peter, his son, stirred uneasily. “Is it all up with her, would you think, mother?” But Mrs. Gorwyn was contemptuous. “Lord, no; a solid girl like Daisy’d stand a deal more than that.” Country news, that most unaccountable traveller, spread even to Starvecrow in its isolation. Mrs. Quince was full of it,--she who towards Clare had kept herself so very prim and respectfully reserved. “You will remember, madam, the girl you saw in the attic bedroom here, Daisy Morland by name?” “I remember perfectly, Mrs. Quince; what of her?” “You will remember she was stitching at some baby-linen,--she was married to that good-for-nothing Lovel,--Gipsy Lovel, they call him,--a fortnight later,--a matter of three weeks before you were married yourself, madam.” “Yes, Mrs. Quince?” “She was brought to bed of a son in the early hours of this morning, madam,” said Mrs. Quince importantly. “Really. I hope she is well?” “Well enough; these country girls make nothing of it. Lightly born as lightly come by, I always say. Yet at one time it was a question whether they could save the baby.” Mrs. Quince added some details. “Yes, madam. Her husband had to ride to Marlborough and brought the doctor out a-pillion, and how he could ha’ done it with the night as black as pitch, and the snow falling, and the roads hedge-deep in snow, is what the folk are all asking themselves. They saw him start, but no one saw him come back, but sure enough when they went to unbar their doors this morning there were the tracks of a horse up the street. A fine boy, they say. It’s fortunate he hasn’t taken after his Uncle Olver.” “Yes,” said Clare. “It’s my opinion, madam, I don’t know if it’s yours too,--that people like that have no business to get children. ’Tisn’t fair, as a matter of conscience, when you don’t know what dark blood you may be handing on. Anybody has only got to look at the Lovels to know there’s no good in them,--well, they ought to restrain themselves, that’s what I say.”