But no; Hannah wanted no repairs whatever. The hut was large enough for her and her sister, only too small to entertain visitors. So with this pointed home-thrust from Hannah, and a glance that at once healed the wound from Nora, he was forced to take his departure. The next day he called again; he had, unluckily, left his gloves behind him during his preceding visit. They were very nearly flung at his head by the thoroughly exasperated Hannah. But again he was made happy by a glance from Nora. And, in short, almost every day he found some excuse for coming to the cottage, overlooking all Hannah's rude rebuffs with the most imperturbable good humor. At all these visits Hannah was present. She never left the house for an instant, even when upon one occasion she saw the cows in her garden, eating up all the young peas and beans. She let the garden be utterly destroyed rather than leave Nora to hear words of love that for her could mean nothing but misery. This went on for some weeks, when Hannah was driven to decisive measures by an unexpected event. Early one morning Hannah went to a village called "Baymouth," to procure coffee, tea, and sugar. She went there, did her errand, and returned to the hut as quickly as she could possibly could. As she suddenly opened the door she was struck with consternation by seeing the wheel idle and Nora and Herman seated close together, conversing in a low, confidential tone. They started up on seeing her, confusion on their faces. Hannah was thoroughly self-possessed. Putting her parcels in Nora's hands, she said: "Empty these in their boxes, dear, while I speak to Mr. Brudenell." Then turning to the young man, she said: "Sir, your mother, I believe, has asked to see me about some cloth she wishes to have woven. I am going over to her now; will you go with me?" "Certainly, Hannah," replied Mr. Brudenell, seizing his hat in nervous trepidation, and forgetting or not venturing to bid good-by to Nora. When they had got a little way from the hut, Hannah said: "Mr. Brudenell, why do you come to our poor little house so often?" The question, though it was expected, was perplexing. "Why do I come, Hannah? Why, because I like to." "Because you like to! Quite a sufficient reason for a gentleman to render for his actions, I suppose you think. But, now, another question: 'What are your intentions towards my sister?'" "My intentions!" repeated the young man, in a thunderstruck manner. "What in the world do you mean, Hannah?" "I mean to remind you that you have been visiting Nora for the last two months, and that to-day, when I entered the house, I found you sitting together as lovers sit; looking at each other as lovers look; and speaking in the low tones that lovers use; and when I reached you, you started in confusion--as lovers do when discovered at their love-making. Now I repeat my question, 'What are your intentions towards Nora Worth?'"