He scarcely took any notice of my words, as he lumbered across a Stile that led to his cottage.  Presently I went home to the farm.  Phillis had Stirred, had Spoken two or three faint words.  Her mother was with her, dropping nourishment into her scarce conscious mouth.  The rest of the household were summoned to evening prayer for the first time for many days.  It was a return to the daily habits of happiness and health.  But in these Silent days our very lives had been an unspoken prayer.  Now we met In the house-place, and looked at each other with strange recognition of the thankfulness on all Our faces.  We knelt down; we waited for the minister’s voice.  He did not begin as usual.  He could not; he was choking.  Presently we heard the strong man’s sob.  Then old John turned round on his knees, and said,—­

‘Minister, I reckon we have blessed the Lord wi’ all our souls, though we’ve ne’er talked about it; and maybe He’ll not need spoken words this night.  God bless us all, and keep our Phillis safe from harm!  Amen.’  Old John’s impromptu prayer was all we had that night.

‘Our Phillis,’ as he called her, grew better day by day from that time.  Not quickly; I sometimes grew desponding, and feared that she would never be what she had been before; no more she has, in some ways.

I seized an early opportunity to tell the minister about Timothy Cooper’s unsolicited watch on the bridge during the long Summer’s day.

‘God forgive me!’ said the minister.  ’I have been too proud in my own conceit.  The first steps I take out of this house shall be to Cooper’s cottage.’

I need hardly say Timothy was reinstated in his place on the farm; and I have often since admired the patience with which his master tried to teach him how to do the easy work which was henceforward carefully adjusted to his capacity.  Phillis was carried down-stairs, and lay for hour after hour quite silent on the great sofa, drawn up under the windows of the house-place.  She seemed always the same, gentle, quiet, and sad.  Her energy did not return with her bodily strength.  It was sometimes pitiful to see her parents’ vain endeavours to rouse her to interest.  One day the minister brought her a set of blue ribbons, reminding her with a tender smile of a former conversation in which she had owned to a love of such feminine vanities.  She spoke gratefully to him, but when he was gone she laid them on one side, and languidly shut her eyes.  Another time I saw her mother bring her the Latin and Italian books that she had been so fond of before her illness—­or, rather, before Holdsworth had gone away.  That was worst of all.  She turned her face to the wall, and cried as soon as her mother’s back was turned.  Betty was laying the cloth for the early dinner.  Her sharp eyes saw the state of the case.