When he reached the moor, Gaunt looked for Ghyll Farm. Its roof was set in the middle of waving lines of heat-haze, and no life stirred about the house. Fancy had played Reuben many a surly trick, but it helped him now to brace himself for coming trouble. Dalliance in sheltered Garth was forgotten; he knew that ill news awaited him, and went forward, preparing himself to meet it. With all his faults, Gaunt was apt to meet an open danger in the face. Mrs. Mathewson, from the window of Peggy’s bedroom, had seen him come up the moor, and ran down and out into the croft. She found him opening the gate. “Don’t come nigh, Reuben,” she cried. “I tell you, don’t come nigh.” Her strong, lean arms were stretched towards him, motioning him away; there was trouble in her face, and her eyes had the look which tired folk wear when they have been awake throughout the night. He thought at first that her old distrust of him had returned and laughed. “I’m not to be kept away from Ghyll these days, mother. Peggy is pledged to marry me next week, and ’tis overlate for you to say no to that.” As he came nearer Widow Mathewson withdrew. Gaunt could make nothing of the look she gave him--tragical, and full of pity, and weary beyond all belief. “Ye’ll not come in,” she said sharply. “And why shouldn’t I?” “Oh, Reuben, Reuben, the fever’s come to Ghyll. Peggy ligs yonder i’ her bed, and her face is ill to look at. Ye’ll catch it, too, if ye come nigh the house--for me ’tis no matter--I’m ower-old to care.” Gaunt paused for a moment, shocked by the news. Then he crossed the garden-strip, and stood beside her in the porch. “Mother,” he said quietly, “it seems we’ve to know one another better. D’ye think I’m feared o’ the fever, if Peggy has caught it?” She stood away from him. In the hour of fear she could not rid herself of this habit of denying all courage in a man. “Fever means little to me,” she said drily. “I’m over and done with, Reuben, and care niver at all whether I lig me down or no. But ye’re young, lad--” “And a coward,” broke in Reuben. She glanced again at his face. “Well, no,” she said. “I was wrong there, and I own it. But, Reuben--there’s one i’ five lives on to tell on’t if they catch the fever.” “Then Peggy must be the one, that’s all, mother. We’ll save her yet between us.” He had no thought of himself. His face, after he had heard her news, was softened, yet full of quiet strength. The widow felt a grudging admiration for this man, with whom she had fought so bitterly in days gone by; she looked again at his trim, healthy body, at the young health in his face, and she was filled with pity.