ed all the facetiousness of which he
was master on Robbie's unconscious figure.

Reuben's well-meant efforts were of no avail. Robbie alternately
whispered, "It was north of the bridge," and chuckled, "Ah, ah!
there's Garth, Garth--but I downed him, the dummel head!"

The little dalesman relinquished as hopeless all further attempt at
rational converse, and gave himself the solemn assurance, conveyed to
his acute intelligence by many grave shakes of the head, that "summat
_was_ ailin' the lad, after all."

Then they drove for hours in silence. It was dark when they passed
through Threlkeld, and turned into the Vale of Wanthwaite on their
near approach to Wythburn.

"I scarce know rightly where Robbie bides, now old Martha's dead,"
thought Reuben; "I'll just slip up the lonnin to Shoulth'et and ask."

CHAPTER XXXVI. ROTHA'S CONFESSION.

And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.
Coleridge.

When Reuben Thwaite formed this resolution he was less than a mile
from Shoulthwaite. In the house on the Moss, Rotha was then sitting
alone, save for the silent presence of the unconscious Mrs. Ray. The
day's work was done. It had been market day, and Willy Ray had not
returned from Gaskarth. The old house was quiet within, and not a
breath of wind was stirring without. There was no sound except the
crackling of the dry boughs on the fire and the hollow drip of the
melting snow.

By the chair from which Mrs. Ray gazed vacantly and steadily Rotha sat
with a book in her hand. She tried to read, but the words lost their
meaning. Involuntarily her eyes wandered from the open page. At length
the old volume, with its leathern covers clasped together with their
great brass clasp, dropped quietly into the girl's lap.

At that moment there was a sound of footsteps in the courtyard.
Getting up with an anxious face, Rotha walked to the window and drew
the blind partly aside.

It was Matthew Branthwaite.

"How fend ye, lass?" he said on opening the door; "rubbin' on all
reet? The roads are varra drewvy after the snow," he added, stamping
the clods from his boots. Then looking about, "Hesn't our Liza been
here to-neet?"

"Not yet," Rotha answered.

"Whearaway is t' lass? I thought she was for slipping off to
Shoulth'et. But then she's olas gitten her best bib and tucker on
nowadays."

"She'll be here soon, no doubt," said Rotha, giving Matthew