‘Ay, she has so! She only heard tell this morning about poor Ned, and she came down to say how sorry she were. Eh, but she is some and altered; hoo’s gone so quiet, I ne’er saw nowt like it. Hoo were ne’er a noisy one, but now----’ Mary paused a minute. ‘I’d a deal to tell her--all about me and Harry, and poor Ned, and about thy going away.’ ‘Yes,’ said Myles, in a dull voice. ‘Hoo fair started when hoo heard thou were going away. Hoo were so surprised. I told her all about it, and hoo said it were much the best thing, and I were to congratulate you. And then hoo said it were a long time since hoo had seen you, and, if you’d time, would you go up to-night and see her, for she’d something she wanted to say to you. If you do go,’ added Mary, ‘you’ll have to go now, or it’ll get too late. It’s after nine.’ ‘I don’t think it would be anything very important,’ said her brother, in a measured voice. ‘And I have no time, either. I’ve a lot of things to do to-night.’ ‘Won’t you go?’ asked Mary, opening her eyes wide. ‘Not go and say good-bye to her! Such friends as you’ve been!’ ‘No,’ repeated Myles. ‘She will understand that I am too busy.’ ‘I don’t think hoo’ll understand nowt o’ t’ sort,’ said Mary very emphatically. ‘But go thy own gait! thou knows best.’ He turned away from her, and went upstairs to nail up a box with some books of his own in it, and to put up some few things of furniture which Mary was to take away with her when she went to the Ashworths’ house; and as he worked his heart and his temples throbbed almost to bursting. Go to her, after what had been said! And, never to mention that, why was he to go to her? To hear something she wanted to tell him! What could that be, but that she was going to marry Sebastian? He was to walk up and hear that from her own lips, and then say good-bye to her, and not betray himself! After what had happened! After he had gone through with his bitter task, accepted favours from Sebastian--all in order that he might never see her again! No! Of course it might be ungrateful, brutal, uncivilised; it was nevertheless the only safe path for him to take--to maintain absolute silence and let her think what she pleased of him. What did it matter? She had Sebastian. He would soon be forgotten; he would take care of that. He knew, he was perfectly conscious all the time, that he was doing wrong. As he drove one nail after another into the box, each stroke of the hammer seemed to say ‘Wrong!’ And, with his eyes open, he did that wrong, because he was utterly miserable, and for the moment utterly indifferent; because he had suffered so much and so long that even his will felt broken, and to deliberately go to her and court still more suffering was more than he could do.