CHAPTER III.
Six weeks passed, and Absalom did not return. Madge went over to her mother. "He bean't come," she said, beginning to cry.
"I knowed a wassn't," said the old woman, rocking herself to and fro in her low rush-bottomed chair, with her feet on the hearth, almost among the ashes. "Thee's soon have to look out for theeself."
"How, mother?"
"Cos I'm going to die."
"Mother!"
"I be goin' to die," repeated the old woman in the same calm, hard tone. A life of incessant labour had crushed all sentiment out of her—except superstition—and she faced the hard facts of existence without emotion.
Madge began to weep.
"Thee go and shut up the cottage, wench, and come and bide wi' I."