They glanced at Mistress Wayne, expecting speech from her; but she said naught—only stood idly watching them, as if she had some question in her mind and feared to ask it. Surprised he was, and awe-struck, by this second advent of a figure at once so eerie and so pitiful, the shepherd was not minded to lose so plain a chance of profit. The lamb was sick, and he knew as well as Hiram did what healing these mad folk carried in their touch. Eager to thrust his burden against the little woman’s hand, he moved up toward the fence; but she took fright at his abruptness, and turned, and raced fleet-footed up the slope. The shepherd watched her disappear among the furrows of the heath, then looked at Hiram. "What dost mak on ’t’, lad?" he asked. "Nay, how should I tell?" said Hiram sourly. "’Twould seem yond skinful o’ kiss-me-quick ways—who war niver fit, as I’ve said mony a time, to be wife to Wayne o’ Marsh—has paid a bonnie price for her frolic wi’ Dick Ratcliffe o’ Wildwater— Lord save us, though," he added, "I mun say no ill o’ th’ wench, now that she is as she is, for ’tis crixy work to cross sich, so they say." "She’s talked o’ seeking her lover up at Wildwater," put in the other, in an awed voice. "Did she find him, I wonder? ’Tis fearful strange, lad Hiram, whichiver way a body looks at it." "Tha’s heard nowt, I’m thinking, of how this same Dick Ratcliffe, that she calls her lover, war killed last neet i’ Marshcotes graveyard?" "What, killed? Think o’ that now! An’ th’ little body trapesing all up and down th’ moor, seeking him and reckoning he war up yonder at Wildwater House. Where didst learn it, Hiram?" Hiram took his spade in hand again and thrust it into the lime—with no immediate intention of resuming work, but as a signal that by and by he would have given his tongue as much work as was good for it. "Where should I learn it, save at Nanny Witherlee’s? I war dahn at Marshcotes this morn, an’ says I to myseln, ’Jose, lad,’ says I, ’if there’s owt fresh about this bad business o’ th’ Maister’s, Nanny ’ll know on ’t.’ An’ I war right, for sure; there’s niver a mousehole i’ ony house but Nanny hes a peep through ’t." "Ay, she knows whether ye’ve getten feathers or flocks i’ your bedding, does Nanny," Hiram agreed, as he patted the heap with the flat of his spade. "She hed been ringing th’ death-bell, seemingly, and when she came out into th’ kirkyard— Now, look yonder, Hiram! We’re seeing a sect o’ company up here this blessed day, for here’s th’ young Maister hisseln, an’ Mistress Nell wi’ him. Eh, but they’ve getten owd faces on young shoulders, hes th’ pair on ’em. I’ll be wending up to th’ farm, lad, wi’ this lambkin, for I war aye softish about meeting troubled faces—they do may my een watter so." The shepherd made off hurriedly along the crest of the field, his eyes turned steadfastly from the path which Shameless Wayne and his sister were climbing; and Hiram watched him sourily.