These words had been written on his leaving America. He was ready for his departure. They were the last record. When she had read them, Christian pushed the papers away and sat gazing into space with dilated eyes. "He died," she said. "He is _dead_. Nothing can bring him back; and it is forgotten." CHAPTER XII. GRANNY DIXON. The next time Janey brought her father's dinner to the Yard she sought out Murdoch in a dejected mood. She found him reading over his lunch in the sunshine, and she sat down opposite to him, folding her arms on her lap. "We're i' trouble again at our house," she said. "We're allus i' trouble. If it is na one thing, it's another." Murdoch shut his book and leaned back upon his pile of lumber to listen. He always listened. "What is it this time?" "This toime?" querulously. "This is th' worst o' th' lot. Granny Dixon's come back." "Granny Dixon?" Janey shook her head. "Tha knows nowt about her," she said. "I nivver towd thee nowt. She's my feyther's grandmother an' she's ower ninety years owd, an' she's getten money. If it wur na fur that no one ud stond her, but"--with a sigh--"foak conna turn away brass." Having relieved herself of this sentiment she plunged into the subject with fresh asperity. "Theer's no knowin' how to tak' her," she said. "Yo' mun shout at th' top o' yore voice to mak' her hear. An' she wunnot let nowt go by. She mun hear aw as is goin'. She's out wi' Mester Hixon at th' chapel because she says she conna hear him an' he does it a-purpose. When she wur out wi' ivverybody else she used to say she wur goin' to leave her brass to him, an' she invited him to tea ivvery neet fur a week, an' had him set by her chair an' talk. It wur summer toime an' I've seed him set an' shout wi' th' sweat a-pourin' down his face an' his neck-tie aw o' one soide, an' at th' eend o' a week he had a quinsy, as wur nigh bein' th' eend o' him. An' she nivver forgive him. She said as he wur an impident chap as thowt hissen too good fur his betters." Murdoch expressed his sympathy promptly. "I wish tha'd coom up an' talk to her some day thysen," said Janey. "It ud rest us a bit," candidly. "Yo'n getten th' kind o' voice to mak' folk hear, though yo' dunnot speak so loud, an' if yo' get close up to her ear an' say things slow, yo'd get used to it i' toime." "I'll come some day," answered Murdoch, speculating with some doubt as to the possible result of the visit. Her mind relieved, Janey rose to take her departure. Suddenly, however, a new idea presented itself to her active mind. "Has tha seen Miss Ffrench yet?" she asked. "Yes," he answered. "What does tha think on her?" He picked up his book and re-opened it. "I only saw her for an instant," he said. "I hadn't time to think anything."