Rotha had paid hurried visits daily to her forlorn little home since the terrible night of the death of the master of Shoulthwaite.

She had done what she could to make the cheerless house less cheerless.

She had built a fire on the hearth and spread out her father's tools on the table before the window at which he worked.
Nothing had tempted him to return.

Each morning she found everything exactly as she had left it the morning before.
When the girls reached the cottage, Liza instinctively dropped back.
Rotha's susceptible spirit perceived the restraint, and suffered from the sentiment of dread which it implied.
"Stay here, then," she said, in reply to her companion's unspoken reluctance to go farther.

In less than a minute Rotha had returned.
Her eyes were wet.
"He is not here," she said, without other explanation.