“Master Swift,” said he, “do ’ee think that be our Lord among them sheep?  With His hair falling on’s shoulders, and the light round His head, and the long frock?”

Master Swift’s eyes turned involuntarily in the direction in which Abel’s were gazing.  He saw nothing but the dark corners of the dwelling-room; but he said, —

“Ay, ay, Abel, my lad.”

“What be His frock all red for, then?  Bright red, like blood.  ’Tis like them figures in—­in” —

Here Abel wandered again, and only muttered to himself.  But when Jan crept near to him, and touching him said, “The figures in the window, Abel dear,” he opened his eyes and said, —

“So it be, Janny.  With the sun shining through ’em.  Thee knows.”

And then he wailed fretfully, —

“Why do He keep His back to me all along?  I follows Him up and down, all over, till I be tired.  Why don’t He turn His face?”

Jan was speechless from tears, but the old schoolmaster took Abel’s hot hand in his, and said, with infinite tenderness, —

“He will, my lad.  He’ll turn His face to thee very soon.  Wait for Him, Abel.”

“Do ’ee think so?” said Abel.  And after a while he muttered, “You be the schoolmaster, and ought to know.”

And, seemingly satisfied, he dozed once more.

Master Swift hurried away.  He had business in the village, and he wanted to catch the doctor, and ask his opinion of Abel’s case.

“Will be get round, sir?” he asked.

The doctor shook his head, and Master Swift felt a double pang.  He was sorry about Abel, but the real object of his anxiety was Jan.  Once he had hoped the danger was past, but the pestilence seemed still in full strength at the windmill, and the agonizing conviction strengthened in his mind that once more his hopes were to be disappointed, and the desire of his eyes was to be snatched away.  The doctor thought that he was grieving for Abel, and said, —

“I’m just as sorry as yourself.  He’s a fine lad, with something angelic about the face, when ye separate it from its surroundings.  But they’ve no constitution in that family.  It’s just the want of strength in him, and not the strength of the fever, this time; for the virulence of the poison’s abating.  The cases are recovering now, except where other causes intervene.”

Master Swift felt almost ashamed of the bound in his spirits.  But the very words which shut out all hope of Abel’s recovery opened a possible door of escape for Jan.  He was not one of the family, and it was reasonable to hope that his constitution might be of sterner stuff.  He turned with a lighter heart into his cottage, where he purposed to get some food and then return to the mill.  There might be a lucid interval before the end, in which the pious Abel might find comfort from his lips; and if Jan sickened, he would nurse him night and day.

Rufus welcomed his master not merely with cordiality, but with fussiness.  The partly apologetic character of his greeting was accounted for when a half starved looking dog emerged from beneath the table, and, not being immediately kicked, wagged the point of its tail feebly, keeping at a respectful distance, whilst Rufus introduced it.