The sound of a footstep--Annie raised herself suddenly, whilst a brilliant flush crimsoned both her face and neck, and her breath began to come and go hastily, though her dark eyes sparkled as if with sudden hope. In another instant, as the young workman knocked and entered, she lay back wearily, with her face pale again. Her change of expression caught her mother’s passing notice, but poor Jenny was not learned in such signals. Ah! was there some hope, not confided to her mother, working in the girl’s mind in spite of her passionate despair? It was Tim who entered, appearing taller than usual, as he descended the step into the low, yellow-raftered room, taking off his blue cap with civility, and advancing with more timidity than was usual with him. He was still in his blue working jacket and in his corduroys, but his dark hair had been brushed and he looked spruce and fresh, and there was a red rose in the buttonhole of his jacket, although he was not accustomed to wear a flower. A lean, lithe figure, he advanced into the room, his bright eyes seeming to take in the whole of it as he came, and with it the delicate mother with her sewing in her hand, and the bright-haired girl on whom his gaze lingered last. ‘I’ve come early to see thee, Annie,’ he said, (his honesty inducing him to speak first to her) ‘for I must get back to the town this afternoon, and I’d a bit word to say to thee ere I go.’ He turned for the first time to Jenny, who gave him for answer her rare, pretty smile, although with the reserve that belongs to North country folk, she did not put into words the welcome that she gave. Another mother would have been alert, suspicious, but in certain matters poor Jenny was not quick; she was ready to welcome the young fellow as a friend, without pausing to consider why he came. A certain reserve and caution in her nature, born of her hard lot and sad experience, and of the care with which she guarded both her treasures, made the list of her acquaintances very short. But Tim Nicol! there was no reason to be afraid of _him_, no one in the village was without a good word for Tim! He had seated himself upon a chair by her daughter, having disposed of his cap by placing it on the floor, and without seeming to be in any haste to speak, let his eyes follow the young girl’s fingers as she sewed. There was nothing sentimental, however, in his face--no one could well have been less sentimental than Tim--and anyone seeing him there, bright and business-like, might have doubted whether indeed he had come there as a _swain._ It may be, notwithstanding, that Annie did not doubt--a beautiful girl is generally conscious of her power, and the daughter was without the ignorant humility that had belonged to her mother all her life. But it was observable that she made no effort to attract, her passionate nature had a proud sincerity.