Here Lisbeth broke from words into moans, swaying herself backwards and forwards on her chair.  Seth, always timid in his behaviour towards his mother, from the sense that he had no influence over her, felt it was useless to attempt to persuade or soothe her till this passion was past; so he contented himself with tending the back kitchen fire and folding up his father’s clothes, which had been hanging out to dry since morning—­afraid to move about in the room where his mother was, lest he should irritate her further.

But after Lisbeth had been rocking herself and moaning for some minutes, she suddenly paused and said aloud to herself, “I’ll go an’ see arter Adam, for I canna think where he’s gotten; an’ I want him to go upstairs wi’ me afore it’s dark, for the minutes to look at the corpse is like the meltin’ snow.”

Seth overheard this, and coming into the kitchen again, as his mother rose from her chair, he said, “Adam’s asleep in the workshop, mother.  Thee’dst better not wake him.  He was o’erwrought with work and trouble.”

“Wake him?  Who’s a-goin’ to wake him?  I shanna wake him wi’ lookin’ at him.  I hanna seen the lad this two hour—­I’d welly forgot as he’d e’er growed up from a babby when’s feyther carried him.”

Adam was seated on a rough bench, his head supported by his arm, which rested from the shoulder to the elbow on the long planing-table in the middle of the workshop.  It seemed as if he had sat down for a few minutes’ rest and had fallen asleep without slipping from his first attitude of sad, fatigued thought.  His face, unwashed since yesterday, looked pallid and clammy; his hair was tossed shaggily about his forehead, and his closed eyes had the sunken look which follows upon watching and sorrow.  His brow was knit, and his whole face had an expression of weariness and pain.  Gyp was evidently uneasy, for he sat on his haunches, resting his nose on his master’s stretched-out leg, and dividing the time between licking the hand that hung listlessly down and glancing with a listening air towards the door.  The poor dog was hungry and restless, but would not leave his master, and was waiting impatiently for some change in the scene.  It was owing to this feeling on Gyp’s part that, when Lisbeth came into the workshop and advanced towards Adam as noiselessly as she could, her intention not to awaken him was immediately defeated; for Gyp’s excitement was too great to find vent in anything short of a sharp bark, and in a moment Adam opened his eyes and saw his mother standing before him.  It was not very unlike his dream, for his sleep had been little more than living through again, in a fevered delirious way, all that had happened since daybreak, and his mother with her fretful grief was present to him through it all.  The chief difference between the reality and the vision was that in his dream Hetty was continually coming before him in bodily presence—­strangely mingling herself as an actor in scenes with which she had nothing to do.  She was even by the Willow Brook; she made his mother angry by coming into the house; and he met her with her smart clothes quite wet through, as he walked in the rain to Treddleston, to tell the coroner.  But wherever Hetty came, his mother was sure to follow soon; and when he opened his eyes, it was not at all startling to see her standing near him.