They walked a little way from the house, Myles scarcely daring to look upward towards a window where the cherry-blossom reigned again; but when they stood two hundred yards distant, a cry reached them and Tommy Bates approached hurriedly.
"Maister! Maister Stapledon, sir! You'm wanted to wance!"
"Go!" said Mark, "and tell Tom to come and lead me back."
So, for the second time in twenty-four hours, Myles Stapledon ran with heavy and laborious stride. In a few moments he reached the house, and finding nobody visible, entered the kitchen and made the china ring again with his loud summons. Then Mrs. Loveys entered, and her apron was held up to her eyes. Behind her moved Cramphorn and his daughter Margery, with faces of deep-set gloom.
"What's this? In God's name speak, somebody. Why are you crying, woman?"
"She's doin' cleverly—missis. Be easy, sir. No call to fret for her. All went butivul—-but—but—the dear li'l tiny bwoy—he'm dead—born dead—axin' pardon for such black news."
"Honor knows?"
"Ess—'pears she knawed it 'fore us did. The dark whisper o' God—as broke it to her in a way no human could. 'Twas last night's fright an' fall as killed un, doctor reckons."
The man stared, and sorrow set his face in a semblance more than common stonelike.
"Bear up, dear sir," ventured Jonah. "She'm doin' braave herself, an' that's more'n a barrel-load o' baabies to 'e, if you think of it aright. An' gude comes out o' evil even in such a case sometimes, for he might have been born a poor moonstruck gaby, as would have been a knife in his mother's heart for all time."