It is my duty to warn your lordship," the letter ended.
For she had not "wakened up" though somehow Dowie had gone on from day to day wistfully believing that it would be only "Nature" that she should.

Dowie had always believed strongly in "Nature." But at last there grew within her mind the fearsome thought that somehow the very look of her charge was the look of a young thing who had done with Nature--and between whom and Nature the link had been broken.
There were beginning to be young lambs on the hillside and Jock Macaur was tending them and their mothers with careful shepherding.

Once or twice he brought a newborn and orphaned one home wrapped in his plaid and it was kept warm by the kitchen fire and fed with milk by Maggy to whom motherless lambs were an accustomed care.
There was no lamb in his plaid on the afternoon when he startled Dowie by suddenly appearing at the door of the room where she sat sewing-- It was a thing which had never happened before.

He had kept as closely to his own part of the place as if there had been no means of egress from the rooms he and Maggy lived in.

His face sometimes wore an anxious look when he brought back a half-dead lamb, and now though his plaid was empty his weather-beaten countenance had trouble in it--so much trouble that Dowie left her work quickly.
"I was oot o' the moor and I heard a lamb cryin'," he said uncertainly.
"I thought it had lost its mither.