It was cold, but he did not seem to feel it.  With the same inflexible scowl and smile, he continued to look out for several minutes, and then with a great sigh, he sat down on the side of his bed, his face immovably turned towards me, with the same painful look.

It seemed to me an hour before old Wyat came back; and never was lover made happier at sight of his mistress than I to behold that withered crone.

You may be sure I did not prolong my watch.  There was now plainly no risk of my uncle’s relapsing into lethargy.  I had a long hysterical fit of weeping when I got into my room, with honest Mary Quince by my side.

Whenever I closed my eyes, the face of Uncle Silas was before me, as I had seen it reflected in the glass.  The sorceries of Bartram were enveloping me once more.

Next morning the doctor said he was quite out of danger, but very weak.  Milly and I saw him; and again in our afternoon walk we saw the doctor marching under the trees in the direction of the Windmill Wood.

‘Going down to see that poor girl there?’ he said, when he had made his salutation, prodding with his levelled stick in the direction.  ’Hawke, or Hawkes, I think.’

‘Beauty’s sick, Maud,’ exclaimed Milly.

‘Hawkes.  She’s upon my dispensary list.  Yes,’ said the doctor, looking into his little note-book—­’Hawkes.’

‘And what is her complaint?’

‘Rheumatic fever.’

‘Not infectious?’

‘Not the least—­no more, as we say, Miss Ruthyn, than a broken leg,’ and he laughed obligingly.

So soon as the doctor had departed, Milly and I agreed to follow to Hawkes’ cottage and enquire more particularly how she was.  To say truth, I am afraid it was rather for the sake of giving our walk a purpose and a point of termination, than for any very charitable interest we might have felt in the patient.

Over the inequalities of the upland slope, clumped with trees, we reached the gabled cottage, with its neglected little farm-yard.  A rheumatic old woman was the only attendant; and, having turned her ear in an attitude of attention, which induced us in gradually exalted keys to enquire how Meg was, she informed us in very loud tones that she had long lost her hearing and was perfectly deaf.  And added considerately—­

’When the man comes in, ‘appen he’ll tell ye what ye want.’

Through the door of a small room at the further end of that in which we were, we could see a portion of the narrow apartment of the patient, and hear her moans and the doctor’s voice.

‘We’ll see him, Milly, when he comes out.  Let us wait here.’

So we stood upon the door-stone awaiting him.  The sounds of suffering had moved my compassion and interested us for the sick girl.

‘Blest if here isn’t Pegtop,’ said Milly.

And the weather-stained red coat, the swarthy forbidding face and sooty locks of old Hawkes loomed in sight, as he stumped, steadying himself with his stick, over the uneven pavement of the yard.  He touched his hat gruffly to me, but did not seem half to like our being where we were, for he looked surlily, and scratched his head under his wide-awake.