Meantime, Rotha undertook the management of the home-stead.  None ever disputed her authority.  The tailor’s daughter had stepped into her place as head of the household at the Moss, and ruled it by that force of will which inferior natures usually obey without question, and almost without consciousness of servitude.  She alone knew rightly what had to be done.

As for the tailor himself, he had also submitted—­at least partially—­to his daughter’s passive government.  A day or two after Ralph Ray’s departure, Rotha had gone in search of her father, and had brought him back with her.  She had given him his work to do, and had tried to interest him in his occupations.  But a sense of dependence seemed to cling to him, and at times he had the look of some wild creature of the hills which had been captured indeed, but was watching his opportunity of escape.

Sim rose at daybreak, and, wet or dry, he first went up on to the hills.  In an hour or two he was back again.  Rotha understood his purpose, but no word of explanation passed between them.  She looked into his face inquiringly day’ after day, but nothing she saw there gave hint of hope.  The mare was lost.  She would never be recovered.

Sometimes a fit of peculiar despondency would come upon Sim.  At such times he would go off without warning, and be seen no more for days.  Rotha knew that he had gone to his old haunts on the hill, for nothing induced him to return to his cottage at Fornside.  No one went in pursuit of him.  In a day or two he would come back and take up his occupation as if he had never been away.  Walking leisurely into the court-yard, he would lift a besom and sweep, or step into the stable and set to work at stitching up a rent in the old harness.

Willy Ray can hardly be said to have avoided Sim; he ignored him.  There was a more potent relation between these two than any of which Willy had an idea.  Satisfied as he had professed himself to be that Sim was an innocent man, he was nevertheless unable to shake off an uneasy sentiment of repulsion experienced in his presence.  He struggled to hold this in check, for Rotha’s sake.  But there was only one way in which to avoid the palpable manifestation of his distrust, and that was to conduct himself in such a manner as to appear unconscious of Sim’s presence in the house.

“The girl is not to blame,” he said to himself again and again.  “Rotha is innocent, whoever may be guilty.”

He put the case to himself so frequently in this way, he tried so hard to explain to his own mind that Rotha at least was free of all taint, that the very effort made him conscious of a latent suspicion respecting Sim.

As to Sim’s bearing towards Willy, it was the same as he had adopted towards almost the whole of the little world in which he lived; he took up the position of the guilty man, the man to be shunned, the man from whose contaminating touch all other men might fairly shrink.  It never occurred to Sim that there lay buried at his own heart a secret that could change the relations in which he stood towards this younger and more self-righteous son of Angus Ray.