"And the taunt will stiffen thy arm, and blows will wipe out word," she cried, her voice clear and strong again.—"Dear, we have no smooth path to follow, but I give God thanks that 'twas drink, not thou, that played the renegade last night. It would have darkened all my love for thee, Ned, to know thee what I feared—ay, though I had fought it down with all my strength."
Again he laughed mirthlessly. "Art so sure that I shall live sober henceforth?" he said.
"Ay, am I! Dost think I've seen but the one side of thee through all these years? Thou wast alway better than thyself, Ned, and needed only a rough blow to bring thee to thy senses."
He interrupted her, impatiently. "We're growing womanish, and I had harder matters to talk of with thee. I'm four-and-twenty, Nell, and I have thee and four half-grown lads to fend for."
"What, then? Are the Marsh lands so poor that we need cry for every penny spent, like cottage-folk?" said Nell, her old pride peeping out.
"I had a wakeful night, lass, and things came home to me. A good farmer drives the work forward, and says little about it, and onlookers are apt to forget what fathering the land needs if 'tis to butter any bread."
"But there's Hiram Hey. He has worked at Marsh ever since I remember aught, and surely he will look to everything?"
"Ay, if he has a shrewd hand ever on his shoulder; but if the master plays at work, Hiram will play, too, with the best, soon as the old habit wears——"
Nell could not keep back a smile. "As well set beggars on horseback, Ned, as put thee to farming. Hadst never patience for it, nor liking."
"Liking? Good faith, I loathe the sight of tillage tools, and the greasy stench of sheep, and the slow rearing of crops for every storm to play the wanton with. But must is must, Nell, lass, and naught will alter it.—Look at Marshcotes kirk yonder?" he broke off, pointing over the moor as they gained the hill-crest. "It is broad day now, and 'tis hard to understand how lately there was fight beneath yond grey old tower."