"Poor wench!" continued Uncle Sol, "she has no pleasure in anything now—that is to say, she has not for some while, not even in my stories and songs. Everything has gone contrary. Anthony has found fault with all I do—has complained of the state of the farm and the buildings, as if I could better matters without money. He has been discontented with everything, and Urith has seen it and fretted over it, and now things are at their worst; he is away; she dying, if not dead; and, Heavens help us—here, have you any cider? I am dried up with troubles."
"Come!" said Luke, "I can bear to be here no longer; I will go with you to Willsworthy; I must know how Urith is. I cannot endure this uncertainty longer."
Luke walked to Willsworthy with Mr. Gibbs, who was somewhat reluctant to pass Cudliptown without knocking up the taverner of the Hare and Hounds to tell him what had happened that night on Black Down, and to obtain from him a little refreshment before he traversed the last stage of his walk.
The grey of dawn appeared over the eastern ridge of moors by the time Willsworthy was reached, and the birds were beginning to pipe and cry.
No one had gone to bed that night in the house, a rush-light was burning in the hall, unregarded, a long column of red-hot snuff. The front door was open. Mr. Gibbs strode into the kitchen, and found a servant-maid there dozing on the settle. He sent her upstairs to call Mrs. Penwarne down, and the old lady descended. When she saw Luke, she was glad, and begged him to come upstairs with her and see Urith. It was possible that his presence might calm her. She was excited, wandering in mind, and troubled with fancies.
Luke mounted to the room where Urith was.
By the single candle contending with the grey advancing light of dawn he saw her, and was alarmed at her condition. Her face was pale as death, save for two flames in her cheeks, and her eyes, unusually large, had a feverish fire in them. She was sitting up. Mrs. Penwarne had striven all night to induce her to lie down, but Urith incessantly struggled to rise, and she had taken advantage of her nurse's absence to do so.
Luke went to her side and spoke. She looked up at him with hot eyes, and without token of recognition.
"I have killed him," she said. "I did it so!"—she raised her hand, clenched it, and struck downwards, imitating the action of Fox. "He fell on the hearthstone, as mother said he would, and then I tried to strike him again, and again, but was torn away." She began to grapple in the air with uplifted hands—"Where is the knife? Where are the gloves? That for Urith!"
Luke took her burning right hand, and said, "Lie down, lie down and sleep. You must be very quiet, you must not distress yourself. Anthony is well."