“Oh, if we could but find her!  I’d take her in my arms, and we’d just lie down and die together.”

“Nay, don’t speak so!” said Susan, gently; “for all that’s come and gone, she may turn right at last.  Mary Magdalen did, you know.”

“Eh! but I were nearer right about thee than Will.  He thought you would never look on him again if you knew about Lizzie.  But thou’rt not a Pharisee.”

“I’m sorry he thought I could be so hard,” said Susan in a low voice, and colouring up.  Then Mrs. Leigh was alarmed, and, in her motherly anxiety, she began to fear lest she had injured Will in Susan’s estimation.

“You see Will thinks so much of you—­gold would not be good enough for you to walk on, in his eye.  He said you’d never look at him as he was, let alone his being brother to my poor wench.  He loves you so, it makes him think meanly on everything belonging to himself, as not fit to come near ye; but he’s a good lad, and a good son.  Thou’lt be a happy woman if thou’lt have him, so don’t let my words go against him—­don’t!”

But Susan hung her head, and made no answer.  She had not known until now that Will thought so earnestly and seriously about her; and even now she felt afraid that Mrs. Leigh’s words promised her too much happiness, and that they could not be true.  At any rate, the instinct of modesty made her shrink from saying anything which might seem like a confession of her own feelings to a third person.  Accordingly she turned the conversation on the child.

“I am sure he could not help loving Nanny,” said she.  “There never was such a good little darling; don’t you think she’d win his heart if he knew she was his niece, and perhaps bring him to think kindly on his sister?”

“I dunnot know,” said Mrs. Leigh, shaking her head.  “He has a turn in his eye like his father, that makes me—­He’s right down good though.  But you see, I’ve never been a good one at managing folk; one severe look turns me sick, and then I say just the wrong thing, I’m so fluttered.  Now I should like nothing better than to take Nancy home with me, but Tom knows nothing but that his sister is dead, and I’ve not the knack of speaking rightly to Will.  I dare not do it, and that’s the truth.  But you mun not think badly of Will.  He’s so good hissel, that he can’t understand how any one can do wrong; and, above all, I’m sure he loves you dearly.”

“I don’t think I could part with Nancy,” said Susan, anxious to stop this revelation of Will’s attachment to herself.  “He’ll come round to her soon; he can’t fail; and I’ll keep a sharp look-out after the poor mother, and try and catch her the next time she comes with her little parcels of money.”

“Ay, lass; we mun get hold of her; my Lizzie.  I love thee dearly for thy kindness to her child:  but, if thou canst catch her for me, I’ll pray for thee when I’m too near my death to speak words; and, while I live, I’ll serve thee next to her—­she mun come first, thou know’st.  God bless thee, lass.  My heart is lighter by a deal than it was when I comed in.  Them lads will be looking for me home, and I mun go, and leave this little sweet one” (kissing it).  “If I can take courage, I’ll tell Will all that has come and gone between us two.  He may come and see thee, mayn’t he?”