The cinder-hill cabin was situated at the mouth of an old shaft, long out of use, but said to lead into the same pit as that now worked, the entrance to which was about a quarter of a mile distant.  The cabin was about the same size as the hut from which the helpless family had been driven; but the thatch wanted so much mending that Stephen and Martha were obliged to draw over it one of their patchwork quilts, to shelter them for the night from the rain which was threatened by the gathering clouds.  The door from the hut at Fern’s Hollow was fortunately rather too large instead of being too small for the doorway; and William Morris promised to bring them a shutter for the window-place, where there was no glass.  Altogether, the cabin was not very inferior to their old home; but, instead of the soft green turf and the fragrant air of the hills, they were surrounded by barren cinder-heaps, upon which nothing would grow but the yellow coltsfoot and a few weeds, and the wind was blowing clouds of smoke from the limekilns over and round the dismal cabin.  Stephen, with the profound silence that began to frighten Martha, made every arrangement he could think of for their comfort during the quickly-approaching night; and as soon as this was finished, he washed and dressed himself, as upon a Sunday morning, before going to meet Miss Anne in the Red Gravel Pit.  He was leaving the cabin without speaking, when little Nan, who had watched everything in childish bewilderment and dismay, set up a loud, pitiful cry, which he soothed with great difficulty.

‘Stevie going to live here?’ said the little child at last, with a deep sob.

‘Ay, little Nan,’ he answered; ’for a bit, darling.  Please God, we’ll go home again some day.  But little Nan shall always live with Stevie.  That’ll do; won’t it?’

‘Ay, Stevie,’ sobbed the child; and Stephen, kissing her tenderly, put her on to Martha’s lap, and walked out into the moonlight.  The clouds were hanging heavily in the western sky, but the clearer heavens shone all the brighter by the contrast.  The mountains lay before him, calm and immovable in the soft light; and he could see the round outline of his own hollow, at which his heart throbbed for a minute painfully.  But there was a hidden corner at the side of the cabin, and there Stephen knelt down to pray earnestly before he went farther on his errand, until, calm and quiet as the hills, and as the moon which seemed to be gazing lovingly upon them, he went on with a brave and stedfast spirit to the master’s house.

Botfield Hall was a large, half-timbered farmhouse, with a gabled roof, part of which was made of thatch and the rest of tiles.  It stood quite alone, at a little distance from the works, on the other side of them to that where the village was built.  The window-casements were framed of stone; and the outer doors were of thick, solid oak, studded with large-headed iron nails.  The iron ring that served as a rapper on the back door fell with a loud clang