“We are all going away, sir, tomorrow across the seas, to Ameriky I believe. It's all come so sudden it seems like a dream, Feyther never spoke of such a thing afore, and now all at once we have got to start. I have run all the way down from Varley to say goodby. Feyther told me that I wasn't on no account to come down to you. Not on no account, he said. But how could I go away and know that you had thought us so strange and ungrateful as to go away without saying goodby after your dear feyther giving his life for little Jenny. I couldn't do it, sir. So when he started off to spend the evening for the last time at the 'Cow' I put on my bonnet and ran down here. I don't care if he beats me--not that he ever did beat sir, but he might now--for he was terrible stern in telling me as I wasn't to come and see you.” Ned heard her without an interruption. The truth flashed across his mind. It was Luke Marner himself who was going to America, and was going to write home to clear him. Yet surely Luke could never have done it--Luke, so different from the majority of the croppers--Luke, who had steadily refused to have anything to say to General Lud and his schemes against the masters. Mary's last words gave him a clue to the mystery--“Your dear feyther gave his life for little Jenny.” He coupled it with Luke's enigmatical words, “A loife for a loife.” For a minute or two he sat absolutely silent. Mary was hurt at the seeming indifference with which he received the news. She drew herself up a little, and said, in an altered voice, “I will say goodby, sir. I hope you won't think I was taking a liberty in thinking you would be sorry if we were all to go without your knowing it.” Ned roused himself at her words. “It is not that, Polly. It is far from being that. But I want to ask you a question. You remember the night of Mr. Mulready's murder? Do you remember whether your father was at home all that evening?” Polly opened her eyes in surprise at a question which seemed to her so irrelevant to the matter in hand; “Yes, sir,” she replied, still coldly. “I remember that night. We are not likely any of us to forget it. Feyther had not gone to the 'Cow.' He sat smoking at home. Bill had dropped in, and they sat talking of the doings of the Luddites till it was later than usual. Feyther was sorry afterward, because he said if he had been down at the 'Cow' he might have noticed by the talk if any one had an idea that anything was going to take place.” “Then he didn't go out at all that night, Polly?” “No, sir, not at all that night; and now, sir, I will say goodby.” “No, Polly, you won't, for I shall go back with you, and I don't think that you will go to America.” “I don't understand,” the girl faltered. “No, Polly, I don't suppose you do; and I have not understood till now. You will see when you get back.”