It takes much to kill a woman of such a constitution, and Jeckie began to mend. But it was long before she spoke a word to any of those who came about her as to the events that had led up to her illness. It was to Farnish that she spoke at last; he had never failed in constant attendance on her, and sat for hours in her room, watching her, waking or sleeping. And as he sat by her side one grey afternoon she suddenly turned her eyes on him with a flash of their old power. "How long have I been here?" she demanded. Farnish, mindful of the doctor's orders, tried to evade a direct answer. "Ye'd best not to bother about that theer, mi lass," he said, soothingly. "Ye're mendin' varry weel now, and t'doctor says 'at if ye're nobbut kept quiet, and hev nowt to worry yer, ye'll soon be up and doin', so----" "I shall have plenty to worry about if you don't tell me what I want to know," insisted Jeckie. "How long have I been ill? Out with it!" "Why, then, a matter o' two or three month, mi lass," replied Farnish. "But ye've been well looked to. Me an' yer sister Rushie, we've been wi' you all t'time--she's been a reight good 'un, has Rushie--never left t'place, and----" Jeckie made a movement of impatience. "What's gone on across there?" she demanded, pointing a wasted hand to the window. "What have they done? How are things?" Farnish, who sat by the bedside twiddling his thumbs in sign of deep perplexity, shook his head. "Now, Jecholiah, mi lass!" he said, with a poor attempt at firmness. "That's t'varry thing 'at t'doctor said ye worrn't to be allowed to talk about. So----" "If you don't tell me, I'll get up and see for myself!" she retorted. "You'd better say!" "Why, then," answered Farnish, "if I mun say, all I can say is, 'at you were took badly Mestur Revis he's hed all t'affairs i' hand. He come forrard and said 'at he'd tak it all on his shoulders, i' your interest. And he's t'only man 'at can rightly say how things is--I can't. I know nowt, mi lass--'ceptin' what I've telled you." "I must see him," said Jeckie. "Ye mun ha' t'doctor's consent first, mi lass," replied Farnish. She lay quiet for some time after that; then she suddenly asked a question which made Farnish stare at her. "Has naught been heard of Ben Scholes?" Farnish made a curious exclamation. "Scholes!" he said. "Aye, for sure! He wor found dead, i' Wake Wood, some time ago; they say he'd evidently been i' hiding theer, and theer he'd died. Queer, worrn't it, mi lass?" But Jeckie made no answer. She knew now, for certain, that it was Scholes's ghost that had come to her, and that all was lost. CHAPTER XII _The Second Exodus_