“Mistress Aline is not looking very well, mother,” said John. “Nonsense, John,” said Aline, and added brightly,--“I have come to ask you all you can tell me about Newbiggin. I know I can trust you.” “Dear heart,” said Janet, “you do us honour.” She skilfully lifted the peats with the long tongs and rearranged them on a different part of the hearth and soon there was a bright fire. “That’s a merry blaze,” said Aline; “it seems to cheer one’s heart.” For an hour they sat and talked about Newbiggin; and the child, with what she already knew, was able to make a shrewd estimate of the true state of affairs. After a while the subject not unnaturally turned to “Moll o’ the graves” and Aline was dismayed when she heard that Moll had been talking about seeing a man on the moors, and saying that it would be the beginning of troubles. “What did she mean by that?” asked Aline. “She would not explain,” said Janet; “she refused to tell any one anything more. ‘The time is not yet, the time is not yet,’ she kept repeating; ‘when all is ready and I have discovered the workings of the fates, I will tell you more than you wish to know.’” “People have gossiped about it a great deal,” Janet went on, “but Moll will say nothing further.” “I trust that her evil desires may be foiled,” said Aline, “but I must not tarry.” As she went up the street she again met Father Laurence coming out of Peter’s cottage and he seemed more sorrowful than ever. “Peace be with you, Aline,” he said. “I have a right melancholic thing here,” holding out a letter. “But it cannot grieve thee beyond what thou already knowest. It is a letter from Durham, long delayed in transit, concerning the death of little Joan. Will you read it or shall I?” Aline’s eyes filled with tears, “I should like you to read it,” she said. Father Laurence then read-- “To Peter Simson in Holwick “It beseemeth me to send thee word, although my heart is right heavy within me, of the passing of the small damsel y-cleped[17] Joan, who came from Upper Teesdale. Of this you will have already heard: but my sister was herself sick of an ague at the time and Sir Robert Miller, her confessor, saith that her mind wandered. He writeth this for me. She herself lingered not many days,--God rest her soul,--and, when I came from Skipton, where I dwelled, she was buried. “I only know from a neighbour that the damsel had gained health until latterly and that the end was on a sudden. She spake much of the young lady at the Hall, who had given her great bounty; and in especial would she have the shoon and the belt returned, which were new. But these same I cannot find, and methinks they must have gone to Newcastle with the other orphans who were in my sister’s house, and whom the good dame who came thence to nurse my sister, took home in her charge, and may our Lady requite her kindness.