Mrs. Tom called after him. "Pretty rough wind last night."
"Iss," he said with a gesture towards the roof. "I see it's blawed off one of the tiles and broke a pane of glass."
"You won't be able to get it mended now till after Christmas," said Mrs. Tom sympathetically. She pressed her face against the window, peering in. "No one up yet?"
"Well, they didn't go to bed till late last night," Richbell reminded her.
"Dessay they've overslept theirself!" Mrs. Tom took the door key from under a stone where Sabina had hidden it in readiness. During the night, with one of the rapid changes to which that coast is liable, the wind had dropped. Frost had stilled the thousand voices of the earth and, in the house, doors hung without creak or movement and the chimneys were hushed. As she crossed the threshold Mrs. Tom shivered.
"'Tis a whisht old place," she said, "and cold."
Her voice came back to her, echoed from the passage. "Cold!"
"There always seems some one in the passage," she said whimsically, "some one who wants to talk and can only say what we do say."
Richbell tried the echo. "Mammy!" she said and "Mammy" was whispered back to her.
Mrs. Tom hung her cloak behind the door and turned upon the world a business face. "Here's the matches," she said, taking them from the mantelshelf, "and you'll find a candle in the linhay there. Now light up the fire quick and make a cup of tea and I'll run in and see if yer auntie's awake."