It was Mrs. Blenkiron’s morning. He had lit the fire in the study at noon and set up Mr. Greathead’s slippers in the fender. When he rose from his stooping and turned round he saw Mr. Greathead’s phantasm standing on the hearthrug close in front of him. It was looking at him and smiling in a sort of mockery, as if amused at what Steven had been doing. It was solid and completely lifelike at first. Then, as Steven in his terror backed and backed away from it (he was afraid to turn and feel it there behind him), its feet became insubstantial. As if undermined, the whole structure sank and fell together on the floor, where it made a pool of some whitish glistening substance that mixed with the pattern of the carpet and sank through. That was the most horrible thing it had done yet, and Steven’s nerve broke under it. He went to Mrs. Blenkiron, whom he found scrubbing out the dairy. She sighed as she wrung out the floor-cloth. “Eh, these owd yeller stawnes, scroob as you will they’ll navver look clean.” “Naw,” he said. “Scroob and scroob, you’ll navver get them clean.” She looked up at him. “Eh, lad, what ails ’ee? Ye’ve got a faace like a wroong dishclout hanging ower t’ sink.” “I’ve got the colic.” “Aye, an’ naw woonder wi’ the damp, and they misties, an’ your awn bad cooking. Let me roon down t’ ‘King’s Arms’ and get you a drop of whisky.” “Naw, I’ll gaw down mysen.” He knew now he was afraid to be left alone in the house. Down at the “King’s Arms” Dorsy and Mrs. Oldishaw were sorry for him. By this time he was really ill with fright. Dorsy and Mrs. Oldishaw said it was a chill. They made him lie down on the settle by the kitchen fire and put a rug over him, and gave him stiff hot grog to drink. He slept. And when he woke he found Dorsy sitting beside him with her sewing. He sat up and her hand was on his shoulder. “Lay still, lad.” “I maun get oop and gaw.” “Nay, there’s naw call for ’ee to gaw. Lay still and I’ll make thee a coop o’ tea.” He lay still. Mrs. Oldishaw had made up a bed for him in her son’s room, and they kept him there that night and till four o’clock the next day. When he got up to go Dorsy put on her coat and hat. “Is tha gawing out, Dorsy?” “Aye. I canna let thee gaw and set there by thysen. I’m cooming oop to set with ’ee till night time.” She came up and they sat side by side in the Lodge kitchen by the fire as they used to sit when they were together there, holding each other’s hands and not talking. “Dorsy,” he said at last, “what astha coom for? Astha coom to tall me tha’ll navver speak to me again?” “Nay. Tha knaws what I’ve coom for.” “To saay tha’ll marry me?” “Aye.” “I maunna marry thee, Dorsy. ’twouldn’ be right.” “Right? What dostha mean? ’Twouldn’t be right for me to coom and set wi’ thee this road ef I doan’t marry thee.” “Nay. I darena’. Tha said tha was afraid of me, Dorsy. I doan’t want ’ee to be afraid. Tha said tha’d be unhappy. I doan’t want ’ee to be unhappy.”