th' house fur a month. He's been ill hissen or summat. He's up an' about, but he'd getten a face loike Death th' last toime I seed him. Happen he's goin' off loike his feyther."
"How is that?"
"Did na tha know," with some impatience, "as he went crazy over summat he wur makkin', an' deed 'cause he could na mak' out to finish it? It's th' very thing Murdoch took up hissen an' th' stroikers wur so set ag'in."
"I think I remember. There was a story about the father. Do you—think he is really ill?"
"Murdoch? Aye, I do.—Mak'less noise, Tummos Henry!" (This to the child.)
"That is a great pity. Ah, there is the carriage."
One of her gloves had been lying upon her lap. When she stood up, it dropped. She bent to pick it up, and as she did so something fell tinkling upon the flag floor and rolled under a table. It was one of her rings. Janey brought it back to her.
"It mun ha' been too large fur thee," she said, "or tha'rt gettin' thin. Seems loike tha'rt a bit different to what tha wur," with a glance at her.
"Never mind that," she answered sharply, as she handed her some money. "Give this to your mother."
And she dropped the ring into her purse instead of putting it on again, and went out to her carriage.
Janey stood and watched her.
"She is a bit thinner, or summat," she remarked, "but she need na moind that. It's genteel enow to be thin, an' I dunnot know as it ud hurt her."
Rachel Ffrench went home, and the same afternoon Murdoch came to her for the last time.
He had not intended to come. In his wildest moments
