Hannah was sitting in the rocking-chair, by the fire. Beside her was the table partly spread with tea, which, however, had been untouched. At Reuben's entrance she turned her head and looked at him fixedly. In the dim light--a mixture of the dying fire and of the moonlight from outside--he could not see her plainly, but he felt that there was something strange, and he ran forward to her. 'Hannah, are yo bad?--is there owt wrang wi yo?' Then his seeking eye made out a crumpled paper in her left hand, and he knew at once that it must be Davy's letter. Before he could speak again she gave him a push backward with her free hand, and said with an effort: 'Where's t' gell?' 'Louie? She's left i' Manchester. A've found Davy, Hannah.' There was a pause, after which he said, trembling: 'Shall I get yo summat, Hannah?' A hoarse voice came out of the dark: 'Ha doon wi yo! Yo ha been leein to me. Yo wor seen at t' station.' Reuben sat down. 'Hannah,' he said, 'yo mun just listen to me.' And taking his courage in both hands, he told everything without a break: how he had been 'feeart' of what Sandy might say to him 'at th' joodgment,' how he had saved and lied, and how now he had seen David, had written to Mr. Gurney, and stopped the cheques for good and all. When he came to the letter to Mr. Gurney, Hannah sat suddenly upright in her chair, grasping one arm of it. 'It shall mak noa difference to tha, a tell tha,' he cried hastily, putting up his hand, fearing he knew not what, 'nobbut a few shillins ony way. I'll work for tha an mak it up.' She made a sound which turned him cold with terror--a sound of baffled weakness, pain, vindictive passion all in one--then she fell helplessly to one side in her chair, and her grey head dropped on her shoulder. In another moment he was crying madly for help in the road outside. For long there was no answer--only the distant roar of the Downfall and the sweep of the wind. Then a labourer, on the path leading to the Wigsons' farm, heard and ran up. An hour later a doctor had been got hold of, and Hannah was lying upstairs, tended by Mrs. Wigson and Reuben. 'A paralytic seizure,' said the doctor to Reuben. 'This woman says she's been failing for some time past. She's lived and worked hard, Mr. Grieve; _you_ know that. And there's been some shock.' Reuben explained incoherently. The doctor did not understand, and did not care, being a dull man and comparatively new to the place. He did what he could, said she would recover--oh, yes, she would recover; but, of course, she could never be the same woman again. Her working days were done.