’Poor lad! you’re but a big child after all; and you’ve likely never heared of a fever-flush.  But you know better nor that, my fine fellow! so don’t think for to put me off wi’ blooms and blossoms and such-like talk.  What makes her walk about for hours and hours o’ nights when she used to be abed and asleep?  I sleep next room to her, and hear her plain as can be.  What makes her come in panting and ready to drop into that chair,’—­nodding to one close to the door,—­ ’and it’s “Oh!  Betty, some water, please”?  That’s the way she comes in now, when she used to come back as fresh and bright as she went out.  If yon friend o’ yours has played her false, he’s a deal for t’ answer for; she’s a lass who’s as sweet and as sound as a nut, and the very apple of her father’s eye, and of her mother’s too’ only wi’ her she ranks second to th’ minister.  You’ll have to look after yon chap, for I, for one, will stand no wrong to our Phillis.’

What was I to do, or to say?  I wanted to justify Holdsworth, to keep Phillis’s secret, and to pacify the woman all in the same breath.  I did not take the best course, I’m afraid.

’I don’t believe Holdsworth ever spoke a word of—­of love to her in all his life.  I’m sure he didn’t.’

’Ay.  Ay! but there’s eyes, and there’s hands, as well as tongues; and a man has two o’ th’ one and but one o’ t’other.’

’And she’s so young; do you suppose her parents would not have seen it?’

’Well! if you axe me that, I’ll say out boldly, “No”.  They’ve called her “the child” so long—­“the child” is always their name for her when they talk on her between themselves, as if never anybody else had a ewe-lamb before them—­that she’s grown up to be a woman under their very eyes, and they look on her still as if she were in her long clothes.  And you ne’er heard on a man falling in love wi’ a babby in long clothes!’

‘No!’ said I, half laughing.  But she went on as grave as a judge.

’Ay! you see you’ll laugh at the bare thought on it—­and I’ll be bound th’ minister, though he’s not a laughing man, would ha’ sniggled at th’ notion of falling in love wi’ the child.  Where’s Holdsworth off to?’

‘Canada,’ said I, shortly.

‘Canada here, Canada there,’ she replied, testily.  ’Tell me how far he’s off, instead of giving me your gibberish.  Is he a two days’ journey away? or a three? or a week?’

‘He’s ever so far off—­three weeks at the least,’ cried I in despair.  ’And he’s either married, or just going to be.  So there.’  I expected a fresh burst of anger.  But no; the matter was too serious.  Betty sate down, and kept silence for a minute or two.  She looked so miserable and downcast, that I could not help going on, and taking her a little into my confidence.

’It is quite true what I said.  I know he never spoke a word to her.  I think he liked her, but it’s all over now.  The best thing we can do—­the best and kindest for her—­and I know you love her, Betty—­’