"Oh! what have I done! Made my good man cry, and he not back with me four days! Look up, Raff! nay, Raff, my own boy, I'm sorry I hurt thee. It's hard not to be told about the watch after waiting ten years to know—but I'll ask thee no more, Raff. Here, we'll put the thing away that's made the first trouble between us, after God just giving thee back to me."
"I was a fool to cry, Meitje," he said, kissing her, "and it's no more than right ye should know the truth. But it seemed like it might be telling the secrets of the dead to talk about the matter."
"Is the man—the lad—thou wert talking of dead, think thee?" asked the vrouw, hiding the watch in her hand, but seating herself expectantly on the end of his long foot-bench.
"It's hard telling," he answered.
"Was he so sick, Raff?"
"No, not sick, I may say; but troubled, vrouw, very troubled."
"Had he done any wrong, think ye?" she asked lowering her voice.
Raff nodded.
"Murder?" whispered the wife, not daring to look up.