Then she set off at a swift pace up the steep, stony lane which led to Ashdale Mill. The atmosphere about it suggested nothing of death—the old place was gay with summer life, and the mill-wheel was throwing liquid diamonds into the sunlight with every revolution. Miriam saw none of these things; she hurried into the mill-house and onward into the living-room. For perhaps the first time in her life she was conscious of impending disaster—why or what she could not have told.
Old Tobias lay back in his easy-chair, looking very white and worn—his housekeeper, old Margaret Burton, stood at his side holding a cup. She sighed with relief as Miriam entered.
"Eh, I'm glad ye've comed, Mistress Michael!" she said. "I'm afeard th' maister has had a stroke—he turned queer all of a sudden."
"Have you sent for the doctor?" asked Miriam, going up to the old man and taking his hand.
"Aye, one o' th' mill lads has gone post haste on th' owd pony," answered the housekeeper. "But I'm afeard——"
Tobias opened his eyes, and, seeing Miriam, looked recognition. His grey lips moved.
"'Tisn' a stroke!" he whispered faintly. "It's th' end. Miriam, I want to say—summat to thee, my lass."
Miriam understood that he had something which he wished to say to her alone, and she motioned the housekeeper out of the living-room.
"There's a drop o' brandy in the cupboard there," said Tobias, when the door was closed upon himself and his daughter-in-law. "Gi' me a sup, lass—it'll keep me up till th' doctor comes—there's a matter I must do then. Miriam!"
"Yes, father?"