Then again the memory of the half-crowns, and the village talk--and
Watson--would close upon her, putting her in a cold sweat.

When would Isaac come? Who would tell him? As she looked forward to the
effect upon him, all her muscles stiffened. If he drove her to it, aye,
she _would_ tell him--she didn't care a hap'orth, she vowed. If he must
have it, let him. But as the name of Isaac, the thought of Isaac,
hovered in her brain, she must needs brush away wild tears. That
morning, for the first time for months, he had been so kind to her and
the children, so chatty and cheerful.

Distant steps along the lane! She sprang to her feet, ran into the back
kitchen, tied on her apron, hastily filled an earthenware bowl with
water from the pump, and carrying it back to the front kitchen began to
wash up the tea-things, making a busy household clatter as she slid them
into the bowl.

A confused sound of feet approached the house, and there was a knock.

'Come in,' said Bessie.

Three figures appeared, the huge form of Saunders the smith in front,
John and Mary Anne Waller behind.

Saunders took off his cap politely. The sight of his bald head, his
double chin, his mouth with its queer twitch, which made him seem as
though perpetually about to laugh, if he had not perpetually thought
better of it, filled Bessie with angry excitement. She barely nodded to
him, in reply to his greeting.