ime the doctors 'ud sometimes come
from a long way off; they said as there was somethin' strange about his
sickness. I doaent know what they said, I niver seed him again. There's
part o' him lies i' the bed, an' the parish feeds him, an' the doctors
they talk about him. I niver seed him again sin' that night, but I knows
what he said was true, an' there's many a man as 'as seed him anear me
sin' that day. I tell ye, Johnnie, there's trouble to face i' this world
worse ner death,--not worse ner our own death, fur that's most times a
good thing, but worse ner the death o' them we love most true--an' worse
ner parting i' this world, Johnnie, an' worse _a'most_ than sin itself;
but, thank God, not _quite_ worse ner sin. But I never knowed, lad, how
bad my own trouble was--though it's a'most drove me hard at times, not
recking much what I said or did--I niver knowed, my lad, how bad it was
till I knowed it was yer trouble too.'

The young carter stood quite silent. His blue blouse glimmered white in
the darkness and flapped a little in the wind, but he stood still as a
rock, with his strong arms crossed upon his breast, and the silence
seemed filled with the expression of thoughts for which words would have
been useless. It was evident that her strong emotion had brought to his
mind a conviction of the truth of her words which could not have been
conveyed by the words alone. So they stood there, he and she, in all the
rugged power of physical strength, confronted with their life's problem.
At last, after they had been silent a long time, and it seemed that he
had said many things, and that she had answered him, he appeared
suddenly to sum up his thoughts to their conclusion, and stretched out
both his strong arms to take her and all her griefs into his heart. It
seemed in the darkness as though he did clasp her and did not, for she
gave a low terrible cry and fled from him--a cry such as a spirit might
give who, having ascended to Heaven's gate with toil and prayer, falls
backward into Hell; and she ran from him--it seemed that with only her
human strength she could not have fled so fast. He followed her, dashing
with all his strength into the darkness. They went towards the village,
and in the mud their footfalls were almost silent.

The listener came out of his hiding and went back on the road by which
he had come.

CHAPTER III

Next morning Skelton travelled northward to Yarm. After some difficulty
he succeede