At a stile across the field an old man sat waiting.
She hurried now, her cheek colouring.

Dr.Knowles could see them going to the house beyond, talking earnestly.

He sat down in the darkening twilight on the stile, and waited half an hour.

He did not care to hear the story of Margret's first day at the mill, knowing how her father and mother would writhe under it, soften it as she would.

It was nothing to her, he knew.