Dinah.  It was at a thatched cottage outside the town, a little way from the mill—­an old cottage, standing sideways towards the road, with a little bit of potato-ground before it.  Here Dinah lodged with an elderly couple; and if she and Hetty happened to be out, Adam could learn where they were gone, or when they would be at home again.  Dinah might be out on some preaching errand, and perhaps she would have left Hetty at home.  Adam could not help hoping this, and as he recognized the cottage by the roadside before him, there shone out in his face that involuntary smile which belongs to the expectation of a near joy.

He hurried his step along the narrow causeway, and rapped at the door.  It was opened by a very clean old woman, with a slow palsied shake of the head.

“Is Dinah Morris at home?” said Adam.

“Eh?...no,” said the old woman, looking up at this tall stranger with a wonder that made her slower of speech than usual.  “Will you please to come in?” she added, retiring from the door, as if recollecting herself.  “Why, ye’re brother to the young man as come afore, arena ye?”

“Yes,” said Adam, entering.  “That was Seth Bede.  I’m his brother Adam.  He told me to give his respects to you and your good master.”

“Aye, the same t’ him.  He was a gracious young man.  An’ ye feature him, on’y ye’re darker.  Sit ye down i’ th’ arm-chair.  My man isna come home from meeting.”

Adam sat down patiently, not liking to hurry the shaking old woman with questions, but looking eagerly towards the narrow twisting stairs in one corner, for he thought it was possible Hetty might have heard his voice and would come down them.

“So you’re come to see Dinah Morris?” said the old woman, standing opposite to him.  “An’ you didn’ know she was away from home, then?”

“No,” said Adam, “but I thought it likely she might be away, seeing as it’s Sunday.  But the other young woman—­is she at home, or gone along with Dinah?”

The old woman looked at Adam with a bewildered air.

“Gone along wi’ her?” she said.  “Eh, Dinah’s gone to Leeds, a big town ye may ha’ heared on, where there’s a many o’ the Lord’s people.  She’s been gone sin’ Friday was a fortnight:  they sent her the money for her journey.  You may see her room here,” she went on, opening a door and not noticing the effect of her words on Adam.  He rose and followed her, and darted an eager glance into the little room with its narrow bed, the portrait of Wesley on the wall, and the few books lying on the large Bible.  He had had an irrational hope that Hetty might be there.  He could not speak in the first moment after seeing that the room was empty; an undefined fear had seized him—­something had happened to Hetty on the journey.  Still the old woman was so slow of; speech and apprehension, that Hetty might be at Snowfield after all.

“It’s a pity ye didna know,” she said.  “Have ye come from your own country o’ purpose to see her?”