One morning, the fourth since Bertie died, Mrs. Marks took up Jane's breakfast as usual, and placed it on a chair by the bed-side. "Here's a nice fresh egg," said she, "what you don't often see, this time of the year, I wish it might strengthen your lips, as well as your stomach. I'm sick of seeing you lie there with never a word. I'd rather a deal have a bad one, than none at all," and she drew back the curtains, and stirred up the freshly-lit fire. "I'm ready and willing to speak," replied Jane, "though God forgive me, it's bad enough, as you say, what I have to tell." Mrs. Marks was startled, not only at Jane's addressing her after so long a silence, but at the changed voice, so different to the usual reserved, measured tone, and short answers given in monosyllables. But she took no notice, and merely said,-- "What's the matter? Ain't the breakfast to your liking?" "It's better than I deserve," was the reply. Mrs. Marks was more amazed than before. "You don't feel so well this morning, Jane," said she, kindly, "the weakness is bad on you, like it was on me; but, please God, you'll get round fast enough, never fear. Here!" and she placed the tray on the bed, "take a sup of the tea, and I'll put a dash of brandy in it; that'll rouse you up a bit, I'll be bound." Jane made no resistance, but as Mrs. Marks put down the cup, she placed her hand on hers, and said, "You won't think me crazy, Anne, if I ask you to send and beg young Master Robert to come and see me?" "Don't you know he's been dead these four days past? There--there, lie still, and don't be a worriting yourself this way; your head ain't strong yet." "It's stronger and better than it's been many a long day. Anne, I must see Master Robert, not the dead child, but the young Squire. I've that to tell him that'll make his heart ache, as it has mine, only there's sin on mine--sin on mine," said she, sitting up in bed, and rocking herself about. "Then don't tell it. What's the use of making heart aches?" "I can't bear the weight of it any longer. I must tell. Ever since I saw that child I've been striving against it; but it's no good--no good. I can't keep the secret any longer, Anne. I dare not. If I do it'll drive me clean out of my mind." "Just you answer me one question, Jane. Is it right to tell it? Can any good come of it?" "Yes, so help me God. It can! It will!" "Then," replied Mrs. Marks, "I'll send Matthew at once; mother and I always thought there was something had driven you to be so strange when you left your place up at the Park fifteen years ago." Jane laid herself down and covered up her face, while with a troubled sigh Mrs. Marks went below to seek her husband. Matthew was surprised and confounded when bidden go up to the Hall and fetch the Squire. "What!" he said, "are yer gone clean crazy as well as Jane! It's likely I'll go and fetch the Squire at the bidding of a 'dafty.' How do I know, but what it's a fool's errand he'll come on?"