"You are a queer girl, Hetty. I never seed a woman less fond o' children than you."
"Well, I ain't got any of my own, you understand," said Hetty.
"I understand." The farmer uttered a huge laugh. "I guess I do," he said. "I wish to God you had a child, Hetty; maybe you'd love it, and love its father for its sake."
With a heavy sigh the man turned and left the dairy.
The moment she found herself alone, Hetty flew to the door and locked it. Then standing in the middle of the spotless room she pressed her two hands wildly to her brow.
"He's coming back," she said aloud; "back to live here; he'll be within a mile of me to-night. Any day or any hour I may see him. He's coming back to live. What do folks mean by saying he is well? If he is well, does he remember? And if he remembers—oh, my God, I shall go mad if I think much of that any longer! Squire back again at the Court and me here, and I knowing what I know, and Aunt Fanny knowing what she knows! I must go and speak to aunt to-day. To-night, too, so soon; he'll be back to-night. My head is giddy with the thought. What does it all mean? Is he really well, and does he remember? Oh, this awful pain in my side! I vowed I'd not take another drop of the black medicine; but there's nothing else keeps me steady."
Glancing furtively behind her, although there was not a soul in sight, Hetty opened a cupboard in the wall. From a back recess she produced a small bottle; it was half full of a dark liquid. Taking up a spoon which lay near she poured some drops into it, and adding a little water, drank it off. She then put the bottle carefully back into its place, locked the cupboard, and slipped the key into her pocket.
"In a minute, dreams will come, and I'll be much better," she said to herself. "It seems as if I could bear anything a'most after I'd taken a little of that black stuff; it's a sight better than gin, and I know what I'm doing all the time. I'll go and see aunt the minute I've swallowed my dinner; but now I must hurry to make the plum duff for George."
She ran briskly off to attend to her numerous duties. She was now bright and merry; the look of gloom and depression had completely left her face; her eyes shone with a contented and happy light. As she bustled about her kitchen opening and shutting her oven, and filling up the different pots, which were necessary for cooking the dinner, with hot water, her white teeth gleamed, and smiles came and went over her face.
"To think of Aunt Fanny's toothache mixture doing this for me," she said to herself. "Aunt Fanny 'ud put a bit on cotton wool and put it into the hole of her tooth, and the pain 'ud be gone in a jiffy; and now I swallow a few drops, and somehow it touches my heart, and my pain goes. Aunt Fanny wonders where her toothache cure is; she ain't likely to hear from me. Oh, it's quite wonderful how contented it makes me feel!"