Not a woman had been seen on the street during the day whom Jim had not scanned with an anxious and greedy look, in the hope of seeing the one figure that was the desire of his eyes--but he had not seen it.

Was she ill?
Had she left Sevenoaks?
He would not inquire, but he would know before he slept.
"There's a little business as must be did afore I go," said Jim, to Mr.
Benedict in the evening, "an' I sh'd like to have ye go with me, if ye feel up to't." Mr.Benedict felt up to it, and the two went out together.

They walked along the silent street, and saw the great mill, ablaze with light.

The mist from the falls showed white in the frosty air, and, without saying a word, they crossed the bridge, and climbed a hill dotted with little dwellings.
Jim's heart was in his mouth, for his fears that ill had happened to the little tailoress had made him nervous; and when, at length, he caught sight of the light in her window, he grasped Mr.Benedict by the arm almost fiercely, and exclaimed: "It's all right.

The little woman's in, an' waitin'.