“Yes, I told him last Sabbath.”

Adam remembered now that Seth had come home much depressed on Sunday evening, a circumstance which had been very unusual with him of late, for the happiness he had in seeing Dinah every week seemed long to have outweighed the pain of knowing she would never marry him.  This evening he had his habitual air of dreamy benignant contentment, until he came quite close to Dinah and saw the traces of tears on her delicate eyelids and eyelashes.  He gave one rapid glance at his brother, but Adam was evidently quite outside the current of emotion that had shaken Dinah:  he wore his everyday look of unexpectant calm.  Seth tried not to let Dinah see that he had noticed her face, and only said, “I’m thankful you’re come, Dinah, for Mother’s been hungering after the sight of you all day.  She began to talk of you the first thing in the morning.”

When they entered the cottage, Lisbeth was seated in her arm-chair, too tired with setting out the evening meal, a task she always performed a long time beforehand, to go and meet them at the door as usual, when she heard the approaching footsteps.

“Coom, child, thee’t coom at last,” she said, when Dinah went towards her.  “What dost mane by lavin’ me a week an’ ne’er coomin’ a-nigh me?”

“Dear friend,” said Dinah, taking her hand, “you’re not well.  If I’d known it sooner, I’d have come.”

“An’ how’s thee t’ know if thee dostna coom?  Th’ lads on’y know what I tell ’em.  As long as ye can stir hand and foot the men think ye’re hearty.  But I’m none so bad, on’y a bit of a cold sets me achin’.  An’ th’ lads tease me so t’ ha’ somebody wi’ me t’ do the work—­they make me ache worse wi’ talkin’.  If thee’dst come and stay wi’ me, they’d let me alone.  The Poysers canna want thee so bad as I do.  But take thy bonnet off, an’ let me look at thee.”

Dinah was moving away, but Lisbeth held her fast, while she was taking off her bonnet, and looked at her face as one looks into a newly gathered snowdrop, to renew the old impressions of purity and gentleness.

“What’s the matter wi’ thee?” said Lisbeth, in astonishment; “thee’st been a-cryin’.”

“It’s only a grief that’ll pass away,” said Dinah, who did not wish just now to call forth Lisbeth’s remonstrances by disclosing her intention to leave Hayslope.  “You shall know about it shortly—­we’ll talk of it to-night.  I shall stay with you to-night.”

Lisbeth was pacified by this prospect.  And she had the whole evening to talk with Dinah alone; for there was a new room in the cottage, you remember, built nearly two years ago, in the expectation of a new inmate; and here Adam always sat when he had writing to do or plans to make.  Seth sat there too this evening, for he knew his mother would like to have Dinah all to herself.