But further talk on the subject was interrupted by a slight exclamation at the door.
"O what a smoke, feyther! I can't see you, but I suppose you're somewhere here.

You're wanted at home." Although the speaker was visible to but few in the room there was no doubt as to her identity, or as to the person addressed as feyther.

Mary Powlett was indeed the niece and not the daughter of Luke Marner, but as he had brought her up from childhood she looked upon him as her father.

It was her accent and the tone of her voice which rendered it unnecessary for any of those present to see her face.
Luke was a bachelor when the child had arrived fifteen years before in the carrier's cart from Marsden, having made the journey in a similar conveyance to that town from Sheffield, where her father and mother had died within a week of each other, the last request of her mother being that little Polly should be sent off to the care of Luke Marner at Varley.
Luke had not then settled down into the position of one of the elders of the village, and he had been somewhat embarrassed by the arrival of the three year old girl.

He decided promptly, however, upon quitting the lodgings which he had as a single man occupied and taking a cottage by himself.