'Well, then, you do look poorly,' said her hostess, with all her
motherly heart warmed by this solicitude for her daughter. 'Why, theer's
no cause to fret i' that way. To be sure, Samson might ha' knowed better
than to blunder such a thing as that right out, but, then, he's a man,
and that'd account for a'most anything. Married life might teach 'em
better, you'd think, and yet after nigh on forty year on it he knows
no more about women folk than any bachelor i' Barfield. Theer, tek your
bonnet off, an' I'll gi' ye a cup o' tay, an' then you can goo upstairs
wi' me and see the wench.'

Mrs. Jenny gratefully accepted the proffered tea, and, having drunk it,
much to her inward refreshment, accompanied Mrs. Mountain upstairs. As
the latter had said, the girl was sleeping still, and Mrs. Busker saw
that her position had not changed by a hair's breadth. She lay like a
carven statue, her face marble white in the clear morning light.

'I'm a'most doubtful about wakin' her,' said her mother. 'Theer's no
doubt as Samson gi'en her a shock, an' sleep's good for her. But her's
had welly fifteen hours of it now, if she's been asleep all the tima
Julia, my love,' she said softly, almost in the sleeper's ear. 'My
sakes, how pale her is. Jenny! come here!'

They both bent above her. Mrs. Rusker's heart was beating like a muffled
drum, and seemed, to her own ears, to fill the house with its pulsation.

'Julia!' said Mrs. Mountain again, in a louder voice, and shook the girl
with a tremulous hand, 'Julia!'

The white eyelids did not even stir.

'My blessid! Julia! Don't skeer a body i' this way!' She shook the girl
again. 'Jenny! whativer's come to the silly wench?'

Mrs. Jenny was more frightened, and with better reason, than her
companion. Julia's marble pallor, and the awful stillness of her
form--the keenest glance could not detect a quiver in the face or a
heave of the bosom--almost stilled that exigent pulse within her own
breast with a sudden anguish of despair.

'Oh, Jenny, she's a-dyin'!'

Mrs. Mountain's scream rang through the house, and startled every soul
within it, except that marble figure on the bed. Hurried steps came up
the stairs, the heavy tread of a man, the light patter of women's feet,
and the room filled as if by magic.

'Fetch a doctor,' screamed Mrs. Jenny; 'Julia's a-dyin'!'

Samson Mountain stood for one moment with his hands aloft and his eyes
glaring at his daughter. Then he dropped with a sobbin