“Well, well, you are a good body,” said her brother.

“Ay,” she answered, “I am good enough when I jump your way.  But tell me, Emmanuel,” changing from the disdain of the superior creature holding forth on high matters to the inferior to the familiar gossip of the natural woman, “what’s to do with her?  It’s as plain as a pike-staff that something is troubling her, and maybe it will be some of your love nonsense? for it’s mainly that as fashes the lasses.  Good Lord!  I’m thankful I was never hindered that way.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Gryce, “she has had what you women call a disappointment; and,” speaking with unusual energy, “the man was a fool and a coward, and she has had a lucky escape.”

“Say ye?  If so, then there is no call for her to carry on,” said Keziah philosophically.  “But the poor bairn’s looking wantle enough now, though I warrant me the fell-side air will brisk her up in no time.”

“I hope it will,” said her brother.

“What does she eat, now?  You see, now I’ve got the lass on my hands, I cannot hunger her,” said Keziah.  “Not that I can give her dainties and messes,” she added hastily, the miser’s cloak suddenly covering the woman’s heart.  “She’ll have to take what we get, and be thankful for her meat.  Still, it’s as well to know what a body’s been accustomed to when they come like this, all of a heap.”

“Don’t fash yourself about her,” answered Emmanuel.  “Do what you can—­that you will, I know—­but leave her to herself:  that’s the way for her.  She’s an odd little body, and the least said the soonest mended with Leam.”

“With who, d’ye say?” asked Keziah sharply.

“Lean—­Leonora,” said Emmanuel cherubically.

“Well, I wouldn’t call a daughter of mine after old Pharaoh’s kine,” snapped Keziah with supreme scorn; and at that moment Leam came into the room, and Keziah bustled out of it to tig after Jenny and ding at Tim, as these two faithful servitors were wont to express the way of their mistress toward them.

“My dear, I did not know that things were so miserable here for you, but you must just bide here till the scent grows cold, and then I’ll come for you and put you where you’ll be better off,” said Mr. Gryce kindly when he was alone with Leam.

“This will do,” said Leam, suppressing a shudder as she looked round the little room, where what had originally been a rhubarb-colored paper—­chosen because it was a good wearing color—­was patched here and there with scraps of newspapers or bits of other patterned papers; where the huge family Bible and a few musty and torn odd volumes of the Spectator and the Tatler comprised the sole library; and where the only ornaments on the chimneypiece were three or four bits of lead ore from the Roughton Gill mines, above Caldbeck.

“You have been used to something far different,” said Emmanuel, compassionately.

“My past is over,” she answered in a low voice.