_An October afternoon, fifteen years later. There is no one in the room: and the door stands open, showing a wide expanse of fell, golden in the low sunshine. A figure is seen approaching along the cart-track: and JUDITH ELLERSHAW, neatly dressed in black, appears at the door; and stands, undecided, on the threshold. She knocks several times, but no one answers: so she steps in, and seats herself an a chair near the door. Presently a sound of singing is heard without: and BELL HAGGARD is seen, coming over the bent, an orange-coloured kerchief about her head, her skirt kilted to the knee, and her arms full of withered bracken. She enters, humming: but stops, with a start, on seeing JUDITH; drops the bracken; whips off her kerchief; and lets down her skirt; and so appears as an ordinary cottage-wife._ JUDITH: You’re Mistress Barrasford? BELL: Ay; so they call me. JUDITH: I knocked; but no one answered; so, I’ve taken The liberty of stepping in to rest. I’m Judith Ellershaw. BELL: I’ve heard the name; But can’t just mind ... Ay! You’re the hard-mouthed wench That took the bit in her teeth, and bolted: although You scarcely look it, either. Old Ezra used To mumble your name, when he was raiming on About the sovereigns Jim made off with: he missed The money more than the son--small blame to him: Though why grudge travelling-expenses to good-riddance? And still, ’twas shabby to pinch the lot: a case Of pot and kettle, but I’d have scorned to bag The lot, and leave the old folk penniless. ’Twas hundreds Peter blabbed of--said our share Wouldn’t be missed--or I’d have never set foot In Krindlesyke; to think I walked into this trap For fifty-pound, that wasn’t even here! I might have kenned--Peter never told the truth, Except by accident. I did ... and yet, I came. I had to come: the old witch drew me. But, Jim was greedy ... JUDITH: Doesn’t Jim live here, now? BELL: You’re not sent back by the penitent, then, to pay The interest on the loan he took that morning In an absent-minded fit--and pretty tales Are tarradiddles? Jim’s not mucked that step In my time: Ezra thought he’d followed you. JUDITH: Me? BELL: You’re Jim’s wife--though you’ve not taken his name-- Stuck to your own, and rightly: I’d not swap mine For any man’s: but, you’re the bride the bridegroom Lost before bedtime? JUDITH: No, ’twas Phœbe Martin: And dead, this fifteen-year: she didn’t last A twelvemonth after--it proved too much for her, The shock; for all her heart was set on Jim.