There was an easel standing under the highest part of the shelving roof, where a sky-light was let into the thatch, and a half-finished painting rested on it.

But he did not give a glance toward it.

There was very little interest to him just now in Phebe's pursuits, though she owed most of them to him.
By the time he was ready to go down, supper was waiting for him on the warm and bright hearth, and he fell upon it almost ravenously.

It was twenty-four hours since he had last eaten.

Phebe sat almost out of sight in the shadow of a large settle, with her knitting in her hand, and her eyes only seeking his face when any movement seemed to indicate that she could serve him in some way.