But it was pleasant to hear her thus answer.

For, as I have said, Ursula was not a woman to be led blindfold, even by her husband.

Sometimes they differed on minor points, and talked their differences lovingly out; but on any great question she had always this safe trust in him--that if one were right and the other wrong, the erring one was much more likely to be herself than John.
She said no more; but put the children to bed; then came downstairs with her bonnet on.
"Will you come with me, Phineas?
Or are you too tired?
I am going down to the mill." She started, walking quickly--yet not so quick but that on the slope of the common she stooped to pick up a crying child, and send it home to its mother in Enderley village.
It was almost dark, and we met no one else except a young man, whom I had occasionally seen about of evenings.

He was rather odd looking, being invariably muffled up in a large cloak and a foreign sort of hat.
"Who is that, watching our mills ?" said Mrs.Halifax, hastily.
I told her all I had seen of the person.
"A Papist, most likely--I mean a Catholic." (John objected to the opprobrious word "Papist.") "Mrs.Tod says there are a good many hidden hereabouts.

They used to find shelter at Luxmore." And that name set both our thoughts anxiously wandering; so that not until we reached the foot of the hill did I notice that the person had followed us almost to the mill-gates.
In his empty mill, standing beside one of its silenced looms, we found the master.