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“Well,” said John Frizzell as she turned towards him, “whatever be the matter, Missus? I wish you’d out wi’ it.”

“I have had a letter from my cousin Julia, Father, and she have telled me some bad noos about our Susan.”

John’s jaw dropped, and the colour forsook his face, leaving it pale beneath its tan.

“Why—be the maid took ill?” he inquired with a gasp.

“She bain’t well—and she bain’t like to be well. She’ve a-been ill-used, Father. There, the silly girl wouldn’t hearken to what I did al’ays tell her, an’ now she be sufferin’ for’t. She’ve been an’ took up wi’ a soldier, an’ so far as I can make out he made a purtence o’ marryin’ her; got some raskil to dress up as a minister, an’ put on the ring and all. The poor maid was sure she was married honest, but she kep’ it secret, for he dared her to tell any one wi’out he gave her leave. Well, an’ now he’ve a-gone off to the war, and left a letter for her sayin’ as how ’twere all humbug, an’ they wasn’t married at all, an’ hopin’ she’d forgive en.”