thinks that no man knows of it. Better a millstone were
about his neck, and he were swallowed up in the great deep."

The parson turned away. Garth stood for a moment without perceiving
that he was alone, his eyes still bent on the ground. Then he walked
moodily in the other direction.

When he reached his home, Joe threw down the hoop in the smithy and
went into the house. His mother was there.

"Sim, he's at Shoulthwaite," he said. "It's like enough his daughter
is there, too."

A sneer crossed Mrs. Garth's face.

"Tut, she's yan as wad wed the midden for sake of the muck."

"You mean she's setting herself at one of the Rays?"

Mrs. Garth snorted, but gave no more explicit reply.

"Ey, she's none so daft, is yon lass," observed the blacksmith.

This was not quite the trace he had meant to follow. After a pause he
said, "What came of his papers--in the trunk?"

"Whose?"

"_Thou_ knows."

Mrs. Garth gave her son a quick glance.

"It's like they're still at Fornside. I must see to 'em again."

The blacksmith responded eagerly,--

"Do, mother, do."

There was another pause. Joe made some pretence of scraping a file
which he had picked up from a bench.

"Thou hasn't found out if old Angus made a will?" said Mrs. Garth.

"No."

"No, of course not," said Mrs. Garth, with a curl of the lip. "What I
want doing I must do myself. Always has been so, and always will be."

"I wish it were true, mother," muttered Joe in a voice scarcely
audible.

"What's that?"

"Nowt."

"I'll go over to Shoulth'et to-morrow," purred Mrs. Garth. "If the old
man made no will, I'll maybe have summat to say as may startle them a
gay bit."

The woman grunted to herself at the prospect. "Ey, ey," she mumbled,
"it'll stop their match-makin'. Ey, ey, and what's mair, what's mair,
it'll bring yon Ralph back helter-skelter."

"Mother, mother," cried the blacksmith, "can you never leave that ugly
thing alone?"

CHAPTER XXI. MRS. GARTH AT SHOULTHWAITE.

The next day or two passed by with Rotha like a dream. Her manners had
become even gentler and her voice even softer than before, and the
light of self-consciousness had stolen into her eyes. Towards the
evening of the following day Liza Branthwaite ran up to the Moss to
visit her. Rotha was in the dairy at the churn, and when Liza pushed
open the door and came unexpectedly upon her she experienced a
momentary sense of confusion which was both painful and unaccount