at an early
supper.

'You're back early, Sam,' said the former, rising to draw an additional
chair to the table. 'Wilt have some tay, or shall Liza draw you a jug o'
beer?'

Samson returned no answer, either to this or to Mrs. Rusker's greeting.

'Lawk a mussy, what ails the man? 'asked Mrs. Mountain, as Samson stood
looking round the room. She had never seen such an expression on her
husband's face before. The skin was livid under its rude bronze, and his
lips twitched strangely.

'Wheer's that wench of ourn?' he asked, after a second glance round
the room, Mrs. Busker's heart jumped, and she held on tight to the
arm-pieces of her chair.

'Julia?' said Mrs. Mountain. 'Her's about the house, I reckon.'

'Call her here,' said Samson; and his wife wondering, but not daring to
question, went to the door of the sitting-room and screamed 'Julia!'
A servant girl came running downstairs at the call, and said that Miss
Julia did not feel well, and had gone to bed.

'Fatch her down,' said Samson from the sitting-room, and the girl, on
receipt of a confirmatory nod from Mrs. Mountain, went upstairs again.
Samson took a chair and sat with his head bent forward and his arms
folded, staring at the paper ornaments in the grate.

'Samson!' said his wife appealingly, 'don't skeer a body i' thisnin.
Whativer _is_ the matter?'

'Hold thy chat,' said Samson. 'Thee'st know soon enough,' and the trio
sat in silence until Julia entered the room. She was pale, and there
were traces of tears on her cheeks, and Samson, as he glanced at her
askance from under his heavy eyebrows before he rose, saw that she was
struggling to repress some strong emotion. She advanced to kiss him, but
he repelled her--not roughly--with his heavy hand upon her shoulder.

'You wanted to see me, father,' she asked, trembling.

'I sent for you.'

Mrs. Rusker was in a state of pitiable excitement, if anybody had had
the leisure to notice her.

'Theer's some'at happened to-day as it's fit an' right as yo' should
know. I met ode Raybould today i' th' Exchange, an' he tode me some'at
as I'd long suspected, about his son Tom. I reckon you know what it
was.'

Julia knew well enough. Tom Raybould was a young farmer, a year or two
older than herself. She had known him all her life, and he had been a
schoolfellow and chosen chum of her brother's. He had shown unmistakable
signs of affection for her, but had never spoken. He was a good fellow,
according to com