Getting up with an anxious face, Rotha walked to the window and drew the blind partly aside.

It was Matthew Branthwaite.

"How fend ye, la.s.s?" he said on opening the door; "rubbin' on all reet? The roads are varra drewvy after the snow," he added, stamping the clods from his boots. Then looking about, "Hesn't our Liza been here to-neet?"

"Not yet," Rotha answered.

"Whearaway is t' la.s.s? I thought she was for slipping off to Shoulth'et. But then she's olas gitten her best bib and tucker on nowadays."

"She'll be here soon, no doubt," said Rotha, giving Matthew his accustomed chair facing Mrs. Ray.

"She's a rare brattlecan to chatter is our Liza. I telt her she was ower keen to come away with all the ins and oots aboot the constables coming to Wy'bern yesterday. She had it pat, same as if she'd seen it in prent. That were bad news, and the laal hizzy ran bull-neck to gi'e it oot."

"She meant no harm, Matthew."

"But why duddent she mean some good and run bull-neck to-neet to bring ye the bettermer news?"

"Better news, Matthew? What is it?" asked Rotha eagerly, but with more apprehension than pleasure in her tone.

"Why, that the constables hev gone," said Matthew.

"Gone!"

"Gone! Another of the same sort came to-day to leet them, and away they've gone together."

Matthew clearly expected an outburst of delight at his intelligence.

"What dusta say to that, la.s.s?" he added between the puffs of a pipe that he was lighting from a candle. Then, raising his eyes and looking up at Rotha, he said, "Why, what's this? What ails thee? Ey! What's wrang?"

"Gone, you say?" said Rotha. "I fear that is the worst news of all, Matthew."

But now there was the rattle of a wagon on the lonnin. A moment later the door was thrown open, and Liza Branthwaite stood in the porch with Reuben Thwaite behind her.

"Here's Robbie Anderson back home in Reuben's cart," said Liza, catching her breath.

"Fetch him in," said Matthew. "Is he grown shy o' t'yance?"

"That's mair nor my share, Mattha," said Reuben.

"The lad's dylt out--fair beat, I tell thee; I picked him up frae the brae side."

"He can scarce move hand or foot," cried Liza. "Come, quick!"

Rotha was out at the wagon in a moment.

"He's ill: he's unconscious," she said. "Where did you find him?"

"A couple of mile or so outside Carlisle," answered Reuben.

Rotha staggered, and must have fallen but for Matthew, who at the moment came up behind her.

"I'll tell thee what it is, la.s.s," said the old man, "thoo'rt like to be bad thysel', and varra bad, too. Go thy ways back to the fire."

"Summat ails Robbie, no doubt about it," said Reuben.

"Of course summat _ails_ him," said Mattha, with an insinuating emphasis on the word. "He nivver were an artistic drunkard, weren't Bobbie."

"He's been ram'lin' and ram'lin' all the way home," continued Reuben.

"He's telt ower and ower agen of summat 'at were fifty yards north of the bridge."

"We must take him home," said Liza, who came hurrying from the house with a blanket over her arm. "Here, cover him with this, Rotha can spare it."

In a minute more Robbie's insensible form was wrapped round and round.

"Give him room to breathe," said Mattha; "I declare ye're playing at pund-o'-mair-weight with the lad!" he added as Rotha came up with a sheepskin and a shawl.

"The night is cold, and he has all but three miles to ride yet!" said the girl.

"He lodges with 'Becca Rudd; let's be off," said Liza, clambering into the cart by the step at the shaft. "Come up, father; quick!"

"What, Bobbie, Bobbie, but this is bad wark, bad wark," said Mattha, when seated in the wagon. "Hod thy tail in the watter, lad, and there's hope for thee yit."

With this figurative expression Mattha settled himself for the drive.

Rotha turned to Reuben Thwaite.

"At Carlisle, did you hear anything--meet anybody?" she asked.

"Baith," said Reuben, with a twinkle which was lost in the darkness.

"I mean from Wythburn. Did you meet anybody from--did you see Ralph or my father?"

"Nowther."

"Nor hear of them?"

"No--wait--deary me, deary me, now 'at I mind it--I nivver thought of it afore--I heeard 'at a man had been had up at the Toon Hall and taken to the gaol. It cannot be 'at the man were--no, no--I'm ram'lin'

mysel sure-ly."

"Ralph; it was Ralph!" said Rotha, trembling visibly. "Be quick. Good night!" "Ralph at Carlisle!" said Mattha. "Weel, weel; after word comes weird. That's why the constables are gone, and that's why Robbie's come. Weel, weel! Up with thee, Reuben, and let us try the legs of this auld dobbin of thine."

How Rotha got back into the house that night she never knew. She could not remember to have heard the rattle of the springless cart as it was being driven off. All was for the moment a blank waste.

When she recovered consciousness she was sitting by the side of Mrs.

Ray, with her arms about the neck of the invalid and her head on the unconscious breast. The soulless eyes looked with a meaningless stare at the girl's troubled face.

The agony of suspense was over, and the worst had happened. What now remained to her to say to w.i.l.l.y? He knew nothing of what she had done.

Sim's absence had been too familiar an occurrence to excite suspicion, and Robbie Anderson had not been missed. What should she say?

This was the night of Thursday. During the long hours of the weary days since Sunday, Rotha had conjured up again and again a scene overflowing with delight, in which she should tell w.i.l.l.y everything.

This was to be when her father or Robbie or both returned, and the crown of her success was upon her. But what now was the word to say?