pass the time? For the first day or two he
was unusually cross with all things and people
that came across him. Then wheat-
harvest began, and he was busy, and exultant
about his heavy crop. Then a man came from
a distance to bid for the lease of his farm,
which had been offered for sale by his father's
advice, as he himself was so soon likely to remove
to the Yew Nook. He had so little
idea that Susan really would remain firm to
her determination, that he at once began to
haggle with the man who came after his
farm, showed him the crop just got in, and
managed skilfully enough to make a good
bargain for himself. Of course the bargain
had to be sealed at the public-house; and the
companions he met with there soon became
friends enough to tempt him into Langdale,
where again he met with Eleanor Hebthwaite.

How did Susan pass the time? For the
first day or so she was too angry and offended
to cry. She went about her household duties
in a quick, sharp, jerking, yet absent, way;
shrinking one moment from Will, overwhelming
him with remorseful caresses the
next. The third day of Michael's absence she
had the relief of a good fit of crying; and after
that she grew softer and more tender; she
felt how harshly she had spoken to him, and
remembered how angry she had been. She
made excuses for him. "It was no wonder,"
she said to herself, "that he had been vexed
with her; and no wonder he would not give
in, when she had never tried to speak gently
or to reason with him. She was to blame, and
she would tell him so, and tell him once again
all that her mother had bade her be to
Willie, and all the horrible stories she had
heard about mad-houses, and he would be on
her side at once."

And so she watched for his coming, intending
to apologise as soon as ever she saw him.
She hurried over her household work, in
order to sit quietly at her sewing, and hear
the first distant sound of his well-known step
or whistle. But even the sound of her flying
needle seemed too loud —perhaps she was
losing an exquisite instant of anticipation;
so she stopped sewing, and looked longingly
out through the geranium leaves, so that her
eye might catch the first stir of the branches
in the wood-path by which he generally came.
Now and then a bird might spring out of the
covert; otherwise the leaves were heavily still
in the sultry weather of early autumn. Then
she would take up her sewing, and with a
spasm of resolution, she would determine
that a certain task should be fulfilled before
she would again allow herself the poignant
luxury of expectation. Sick at heart was she
when the evening closed in, and the chances
of that day diminished. Yet she stayed up
longer than usual, thinking that if he were
coming— if he were only passing along the
distant road—the sight of a light in the
window might encourage him to make his
appearance even at that late hour, while
seeing the house all darkened and shut up
might quench any such intention.

Very sick and weary at heart, she went to
bed; too desolate and despairing to cry, or
make any moan. But in the morning hope
came afresh. Another day—another chance!
And so it went on for weeks. Peggy understood
her young mistress's sorrow full well,
and respected it by her silence on the subject.
Willie seemed happier now that the irritation
of Michael's presence was removed;
for the poor idiot had a sort of antipathy to
Michael, which was a kind of heart's echo to
the repugnance in which the latter held him.
Altogether, just at this time, Willie was the
happiest of the three.

As Susan went into Coniston, to sell her
butter, one Saturday, some inconsiderate person
told her that they had seen Michael
Hurst the night before. I said inconsiderate,
but I might rather have said unobservant;
for any one who had spent half-an-hour in
Susan Dixon's company might have seen that
she disliked having any reference made to
the subjects nearest to her heart, were they
joyous or grievous. Now she went a little
paler than usual (and she had never recovered
her colour since she had had the fever), and
tried to keep silence. But an irrepressible
pang forced out the question—

"Where?"

"At Thomas Applethwaite's, in Langdale.
They had a kind of harvest-home, and he
were there among the young folk, and very
thick wi' Nelly Hebthwaite, old Thomas's
niece. Thou'lt have to look after him a bit,
Susan!"

She neither smiled nor sighed. The neighbour
who had been speaking to her was struck
with the grey stillness of her face. Susan
herself felt how well her self-command was
obeyed by every little muscle, and said to
herself in her Spartan manner, "I can bear
it without either wincing or blenching."  She
went home early, at a tearing, passionate pace,
trampling and breaking through all obstacles
of briar or bush. Willie was moping in her
absence —hanging listlessly on the farm-yard
gate to watch for her. When he saw her, he set
up one of his strange, inarticulate cries, of
which she was now learning the meaning, and
came towards her with his loose, galloping
run, head and limbs all shaking and wagging
with pleasant excitement. Suddenly she
turned from him, and burst into tears. She
sate down on a stone by the wayside, not a
hundred yards from home, and buried her
face in her hands, and gave way to a passion
of pent-up sorrow, so terrible and full of
agony were her low cries, that the idiot
stood by her, aghast and silent. All his joy
gone for the time, but not, like her joy, turned
into ashes. Some thought struck him. Yes!
the sight of her woe made him think, great
as the exertion was. He ran, and stumbled,
and shambled home, buzzing with his lips all
the time. She never missed him. He came