the Milton Brook. Then they were kneeling together in one of the square pews of the church, praying from one book. It seemed to her as if she heard his voice, soft and wheedling as ever.

‘Aitchilees, lad, I looved yo’, I did,’ she whispered.

It was near bedtime now: she took up the jug and drank what was left with one long gulp.

‘I’m afeard et ’s gotten i’ my yëad,’ she sighed, faintly. ‘I’m sick-like—I do b’lieve I’ve tekken a drop too much!’

She stretched herself full length on the lang-settle, and fell asleep and dreamed that she was turned out of the house for debts that she knew nothing about. When she awoke, candle and fire were out and the room was in utter darkness. She felt as if she cared not whether she lived or died, but her depression was not caused by her lover’s death. Rain was beating loudly against the windows; a rumble of thunder shook the air.

She rose, and with the sudden motion, upset the three-legged table. The posset jug fell to the hearth and broke into fragments.

‘Drat th’ thing, an’ drat et an’ drat et!’ she snarled. ‘Aitchilees’ brats ’ll hev nowt fro’ me naa!’

And she stumbled blindly to the door.