Andrew.  You’re right there, mistress.  But the clock have moved powerful slow all these last few weeks—­for look you here, ’tis a month this day since I last set eyes on Mill or had a word from her lips—­so ’tis.

Elizabeth.  You’ll have enough words presently.  Hark, she’s coming down with Father now.

[Andrew turns eagerly towards the door.  The farmer enters with Millie clinging to his arm, she wears her ordinary dress.  Her hair is ruffled and in disorder, and she has been crying.

Daniel.  Andrew, my lad, good morning to you.

Andrew.  Good morning, master.

Daniel.  You mustn’t mind a bit of an April shower, my boy.  ’Tis the way with all maids on their wedding morn.  Isn’t that so, Mother?

Elizabeth.  I wouldn’t make such a show of myself if I was you, Mill.  Go upstairs this minute and wash your face and smooth your hair and put yourself ready for church.

Daniel.  Nay, she be but just come from upstairs, Mother.  Let her bide quiet a while with young Andrew here; whilst do you come along with me and get me out my Sunday coat.  ’Tis time I was dressed for church too, I’m thinking.

Elizabeth.  I don’t know what’s come to the house this morning, and that’s the truth.  Andrew, I’ll not have you keep Millie beyond a five minutes.  ’Tis enough of one another as you’ll get later on, like.  Father, go you off upstairs for your coat.  ’Tis hard work for me, getting you all to act respectable, that ’tis.

[Daniel and Elizabeth leave the room.  Andrew moves near Millie and holds out both his hands.  She draws herself haughtily away.

Andrew.  Millie—­’tis our wedding day.

Millie.  And what if it is, Andrew.

Andrew.  Millie, it cuts me to the heart to see your face all wet with tears.

Millie.  Did you think to see it otherwise, Andrew?

Andrew.  No smile upon your lips, Millie.

Millie.  Have I anything to smile about, Andrew?

Andrew.  No love coming from your eyes, Mill.

Millie.  That you have never seen, Andrew.

Andrew.  And all changed in the voice of you too.

Millie.  What do you mean by that, Andrew?

Andrew.  Listen, Millie—­’tis a month since I last spoke with you. 
Do you recollect?  ’Twas the evening of the great Fair.

Millie And what if it was?

Andrew.  Millie, you were kinder to me that night than ever you had been before.  I seemed to see such a gentle look in your eyes then.  And when you spoke, ’twas as though—­as though—­well—­’twas one of they quists a-cooing up in the trees as I was put in mind of.

Millie.  Well, there’s nothing more to be said about that now,
Andrew.  That night’s over and done with.