‘Well, Tim,’ said Mrs Robson, ‘I won’t say nought to yer taste--like goes to like, as they tell me--ye can choose best for yersel’. But, as ye seem to ha’ done wi’ supper, I think we’d best retire.’ She got up accordingly, and at once dismissed the farm-boy, and with a few sharp words, sent off Molly to her work; and then, offering her husband his crutches, though this was the business of her daughter, she assisted him in his progress from the room. Her stateliness appeared greater than the occasion warranted, but her lodger was not in the mood to reflect upon it. Tim was left in the room with Alice, who had taken out her knitting, and had seated herself in her father’s chair upon the hearth, without looking towards him, or attempting to say a word, but still obviously with no inclination to depart. Through the silence in the room he felt her sympathy, and he drew his chair up to the hearth, and sat by her. The summer night stillness was on all the house--a low sound of singing came from Miss Gillan’s room. The two young companions raised their heads to hear; then they turned to each other, and their glances met. ‘Oh, I’m so glad Nat does not come here,’ cried Alice, suddenly; ‘I can’t bear these people--I hate for ’em to be here.’ Her sudden passion might have astonished her companion, if his own thoughts had not entirely occupied him at the time; and if her words had not chimed suddenly and strangely with the vague suspicion that was weighing on his heart. He looked at her with an almost startled expression, but his surprise was due to his own thought, and not to hers. ‘Alice, tell me it all,’ he whispered, almost hoarsely. ‘I’m her friend .... ye can trust me .... I will not tell on her.’ And then, as he saw by her face that she had not understood him, he could contain himself no longer, and poured out all the rest. For at that moment he was overwhelmed, distracted, he knew not which way to turn, or what to do. ‘I’ve told her all I’ve said to ye, I did;’ he said, when he had repeated what he had told once to Jenny’s daughter; ‘an’ she would have it as she’d had nought to do wi’ him, though she didn’t deny as he might ha’ thought on her .... I don’ know what to think on it, I don’t .... It comes to me .... as he’s a gentleman .... as he may ha’ deceived her .... ha’ told her he would make her a lady, thinking no such a thing .... She mightn’t ha’ known his ways; poor child, poor child, she doesn’t know t’ world .... she’ll know it now .... An’ for me, I’m in a hunder minds, I don’t know what to do .... I’ve thought as I’d go to him, but then he’s away, they say .... An’ she’s ill, an’ has fever, an’ I’ve no right to ask her questions, for all as I don’t mean nought but what’s good to her .... God forgive me, I might feel even glad that she was shamed if it ’ud make her turn a thought down to me at last.’