“Tell me, Dan--tell me quickly--is it at Ghyll the fever is? It is not Mr. Gaunt who has it? That cannot be, for I saw him only a few hours since.” “Nay,” the lad answered bluntly. “Mr. Gaunt he hasn’t got it yet, but he’ll have it soon, I reckon. Seems he’s helping up yonder at Ghyll. Said he wouldn’t be home for weeks, he did, and bade me carry a message for him to Marshlands.” “Lord help us!” broke in Widow Lister’s soft, kittenish voice. “I said ’twould come, an’ what’s a poor widow-body to do if she catches it, and her living all by her lone without chick nor child to help her.” The widow had a keen scent for disaster. She had seen Dan come down the road with a look of fright, had followed him, and now was standing close to Cilla’s elbow. As of old, her first thought was for herself; that was why, as she stood in the sunlight, no line or wrinkle showed on her babyish face, though other women of her age would have earned such marks of righteousness long since. Cilla turned, and her smile was quick and eager. She was glad just now for a respite from her thoughts. “Lord help other folk, Mrs. Lister,” she answered briskly. “Have you ever tried that medicine?” The widow sighed and her eyes sought the ground meekly. “Chit of a girl,” she was thinking, “to go lecturing me. As if I didn’t spend all my days i’ worriting about other folks’ troubles. Am always the first, I, to find troubles out. But, then, she doesn’t know what the fever means, the lile, daft lass.” Dan had taken a look at the sun, his only timepiece, and had grown alert on the sudden. “Will bid you good day, Miss Cilla,” he said, touching his cap. “’Tis five of the clock, or thereabouts, an’ I promised Billy the Fool to bellows-blow for him. He gets terrible short i’ the temper, does Billy, if I’m not there to a minute.” Widow Lister followed him down the road. “Oh, Dan, my lad!” she called after him. “Tell Billy he’s never mended my bit of a window-fastener yet. David promised to do it, an’ went overseas; then Billy said he’d do the job; but men are all of a pattern, so ’twould seem.” Cilla watched the two of them out of sight. Well as she knew the widow, there was something unexpected, ludicrous almost, in her remembrance of the window-fastener. The fever had come to Ghyll, it might steal down to Garth before the month was out; yet Widow Lister, in the midst of childish fright, could remember that David had left one job undone when he set sail for Canada. “What’s amiss, lile lass?” asked her father, coming down the highway and seeing the troubled look on her face. “Oh, nothing, father. The day has been overwarm, and I’m feeling it, maybe--” “Now, don’t go blaming the weather,” roared Yeoman Hirst, admitting all the parish into his confidence. “Weather comes, and it goes. There needs be more than that to shake you, Cilla.” She told her news and Yeoman Hirst stood very still for a moment. He was afraid, and he was conquering his fear.