Cherry said nothing.  She would not even by a word seem to doubt Cuthbert’s fidelity.  Keziah, if she did not know how matters stood betwixt them, knew enough to have a very shrewd suspicion of it.  She had been in some sort Cherry’s confidante.  Both the sisters had some knowledge of each other’s secret.

The next evening, just before it grew dark, as Cherry was sitting alone in the upper parlour, exempt from household toil that she might get her own wardrobe ready, and now having laid her needle aside because she could no longer see, the door opened, and the tall, loose figure of Jacob Dyson appeared framed against the dark background of the staircase behind, and the girl sprang to her feet with a little exclamation of pleasure and welcome.

“I thought that thou wouldst come to see me, Jacob.  Thou hast heard that I am going away?”

“Ay, I have heard it.  Art thou glad to be going, Cherry?”

“Yes, verily I am.  I am sick at heart for news of him, and perchance I may get it where I be going.  I shall be near his home and his kinsfolk.”

Jacob had sat down, and was turning his cap round and round in those large red hands that were such an offence to the girl.  After a few moments of silence he looked up and said: 

“Cherry, hast thou ever thought of the things thou hast said to me—­of the promise thou hast given?”

She bent her head low, and the whispered “Yes,” was barely audible.

“Thou wilt not go back from thy word?”

She raised her head suddenly and said: 

“No, Jacob, I will not go back from my word.  Thou hast been very good and kind and patient; and if in time to come it should be proved that Cuthbert is dead, or has wed another and been false to me, then I will say naught against thee, but will do as my father saith, and strive to make thee a good wife.  But I have never promised to love thee as a wife should love her husband.  Thou must not expect that of me, Jacob.”

She lifted her eyes to his with a look that sent a quick thrill through him.  He put out one of his hands and took hers, saying in very gentle tone, though his gestures were slightly uncouth: 

“I will only strive might and main to win thy love, sweetheart.  Methinks if thy heart were once free again thou mightest learn the lesson.”

She shook her head and answered very low: 

“Thou couldst learn to love again, good Jacob; but I—­never.  I would that thou couldst look around thee, and find a good and useful wife whom thy mother would welcome; who would love thee well, and whom thou couldst love without let.  There be such—­I am well assured of it.  As for me, even though some day thou shouldst gain my hand, my heart can never be thine.”