"Do nowt?" echoed the Sexton’s wife. "Ye said as mich when Bet Earnshaw axed ye to go an’ touch her bairn. Did ye do nowt that day, Mistress, or is it thanks to ye that th’ little un mended fro’ th’ minute ye set hand on her?" "’Tis something that goes out of me—I know not what," murmured the little woman. "It is strange, is it not, that such as I should have the gift of healing when wise men have failed?" "Book-learning never cured a cough, as they say i’ Marshcotes," put in Nanny.—"Who’s that at th’ moor-gate? Why, if it isn’t Mistress Ratcliffe herseln! My sakes, it’s a full kirkyard this morn. What mud she be after, think ye? She’s hitching her horse to th’ gate-post, mark ye—an’ now she’s coming down wi’ that long, lad-like stride o’ hers, as if she war varry full o’ some business.—I’d rarely like to know what brings her so far afield." Janet stopped on seeing the chattering group of rustics, with Mistress Wayne sitting quiet and motionless behind them; then, finding that Earnshaw was among the gossips, the girl went down to him. The Sexton’s wife eyed her narrowly as she approached, and nodded her head with a gesture which said, more plainly than words could have done, that beauty and a free carriage were dust in the balance when weighed against the damning fact that she was born a Ratcliffe. "Earnshaw, I want thee to come and doctor that roan mare of mine," said Janet. "Doan’t axe him to do owt he could call wark, Mistress," cried Nanny, missing no opportunity to gibe. "Call it laking, an’ he’ll come like a hare; but reckon it’s wark, an’ ye may whistle a twelve-month for him." "Thee hod thy whisht, Nanny," Earnshaw interposed. "If there’s a horse to be physicked, Mistress Ratcliffe hes come to th’ right man, choose who hears me say ’t." "There’s them as says tha wert born i’ a stable, Earnshaw, an’ I can weel believe it; bred an’ born, I reckon, for tha’d walk further to see a horse nor to sup a quart of ale—an’ that’s saying a deal. Now, Witherlee, art coming, or shall I hev to sweep thee indoors wi’ a besom?" Nanny, her temper no wise improved on learning that Janet’s errand promised so little mystery, carried off Witherlee without more ado. Earnshaw could find no good excuse to linger after he had discussed the roan mare’s ailments with Janet; and he, too, passed up the graveyard and out at the top gate. The girl was about to follow him and ride home again, when Mistress Wayne called to her. "Come hither, Mistress. I have somewhat to say to thee," she cried, motioning the girl to the seat beside her. Janet, who had last seen her, a wind-driven waif, come wailing into the Wildwater hall, was startled by the change in her—by the wild grief in her blue eyes, and the resolution in her baby face. Without a word she took the proffered seat, wondering what Mistress Wayne could find to say to her.