Hannah was in the parlour--so he saw through the half-opened door.

He went into the room, which smelt musty and close from disuse.

Hannah was standing over the open drawer of an old-fashioned corner cupboard, carefully scanning a letter and enclosure before she locked them up.
'Is 't Mr.Gurney's money ?' Reuben said to her, in a queer voice.
She was startled, not having heard him come in, but she put what she held into the drawer all the more deliberately, and turned the key.
'Ay, 't is.' Reuben sat himself down on one of the hard chairs beside the table in the middle of the room.

The light streaming through the shutters Hannah had just opened streamed in on his grizzling head and face working with emotion.
'It's stolen money,' he said hoarsely.

'Yo're stealin it fro Davy.' Hannah smiled grimly, and withdrew the key.
'I'm paying missel an yo, Reuben Grieve, for t' keep o' two wuthless brats as cost moor nor they pays,' she said, with an accent which somehow sent a shiver through Reuben.