He had been up on to the hills that morning.

He had been there on a similar errand several mornings before, and had never told himself frankly what that errand really was.

Returning homewards on this occasion, he had revolved afresh the subject that lay nearest to his heart.
If Ralph really loved the girl--but how should he know the truth as to that, unless Rotha knew it?
If the girl loved his brother, he could relinquish her.

He was conscious of no pang of what was called jealousy in this matter.

An idol that he had worshipped seemed to be shattered--that was all.
If he saw that Rotha loved Ralph, he must give up forever his one dream of happiness--and there an end.
It was in this mood that he opened the kitchen door, just as Rotha had put her foot on the treadle and taken the flax in her hand.
There the girl sat, side by side with his mother, spinning at the wheel which within his recollection no hand but one had touched.