down her work, and crying before him, and yet she had never in her
life longed so much to be alone in order to indulge in a good hearty
burst of tears.

"Well, Mary," she suddenly caught him saying, "I thought you'd be a
bit lonely to-night; and as Margaret were going to cheer th' old
woman, I said I'd go and keep th' young un company; and a very
pleasant chatty evening we've had; very. Only I wonder as Margaret
is not come back."

"But perhaps she is," suggested Mary.

"No, no, I took care o' that. Look ye here!" and he pulled out the
great house-key. "She'll have to stand waiting i' th' street, and
that I'm sure she wouldn't do, when she knew where to find me."

"Will she come back by hersel?" asked Mary.

"Ay. At first I were afraid o' trusting her, and I used to follow
her a bit behind; never letting on, of course. But, bless you! she
goes along as steadily as can be; rather slow to be sure, and her
head a bit on one side, as if she were listening. And it's real
beautiful to see her cross the road. She'll wait above a bit to
hear that all is still; not that she's so dark as not to see a coach
or a cart like a big black thing, but she can't rightly judge how
far off it is by sight, so she listens. Hark! that's her!"

Yes; in she came, with her usually calm face all tear-stained and
sorrow-marked.