One evening Jane came downstairs and took up her station opposite her brother-in-law, who, instead of rejoicing at the change, viewed her presence with a rueful face. When his wife was present he could sometimes forget Jane, but all alone it was impossible; move which way he would he was sensible her eyes were on him as she plied her knitting needles at her old work. How he hated that constant click, click! "Did yer think t'was time for supper?" asked he presently, driven to say something to break the silence, becoming every moment more intolerable. "No." "How's the Missus this evening?" "Better. She's asleep." "That's all right. I'm glad on it," he said, "for she've had a hard time of it upstairs. When is it likely she'll be about again?" "What did the doctor say? Didn't he tell you when?" "He don't trouble to say much. I'm sure I'm right down glad when he don't say she's worse, for that's been the one word in his mouth lately." Jane made no reply, but the feeling that her eyes were fixed steadily on him exasperated him beyond control. "What d'yer see in my ugly mug?" he asked. "Have you fallen in love with it?" "No." "Then may be yer sees som'ut to skeer yer?" "It's bad to have anything on the mind," she replied. Matthew winced a little. "I'll tell you a piece of my mind," he said, throwing his half-smoked pipe into the fire, "I'll take Mrs. Marks' sauce and welcome, but I'm d--d if I take any other 'ooman's living." "I wonder whatever ails you?" said she, quietly. "Ails me? D'yer want to make believe I'm going to be knocked down with the faiver? I'm not such an ass, I can tell yer, yer looks a dale more likely yerself; and as to yer mind? yer look as though a horse couldn't carry the load yer've got on it. A terrible bad load too, I'll take my oath on it." Jane shivered from head to foot. "I'll take up the broth," she said, "most likely Anne's awake before now." But her hands trembled so she could scarcely take hold of the saucepan to pour it out, while the cup and saucer rattled and shook as she went across the room. Matthew sat sulkily by, and never offered to help her. "Well!" said he, as soon as she was gone, "it's my belief she'd have stuck me, if she'd only laid hold of a knife instead of a spoon. How trembly she was; her hands was all of a shake. She'll 'ave spilt all that 'ere stuff, whatever 'tis, afore my wife tucks it down. Well, if she 'aint crazed, I don't know who is." He lit a fresh pipe, and smoked away in contented solitariness. Presently, he looked thoughtful, knocked the ashes out of his pipe and said, "she's a-going to 'ave the faiver, or else she 'ave done som'ut bad in her day, and that's what's crazed her." Matthew was right as to the fever. Not many days passed before Jane was taken ill with it. CHAPTER IX. SEVERING THE CURL.