She choked down a sob, and wiped her eyes with the hem of her skirt.
“I’m sorry for ye, I’m sure,” said he drearily.
“Oh, ’e were a pretty babe, Mr. Martin,” continued she, forgetful for the moment of all but the memories that this seeming touch of sympathy had awakened, and she turned to him with sweet and simple confidence. “Just the prettiest ye ever seed! He might ha’ been a lady’s, so white he were! I done all I could to save ’im, but it weren’t a bit o’ use. And I ’eld ’im in my arms hours and hours arter ’e was dead—’cos I couldn’t believe it, ye see. But I couldn’t put my breath into ’im, though I’d ha’ done it if I could—Lord, I’d ha’ done it willin’!” She drew in her breath with a quick gasp, and added hoarsely: “It do seem ’ard, don’t it?”
“Yes, it do seem precious ’ard,” he repeated, but without looking at her, and his voice as he said it was hard as iron.
In a moment her whole attitude changed. She drew herself up, as though turned to stone, and looked at him quickly. The light was growing so dim in the lane that she could not see his face. But there was no need; the voice told plainly enough what the face was like, and immediately her tears were quenched, and the softness in her shrank away, as from a cruel gaze.
The afterglow was almost spent in the west, leaving only a warmer tone upon the marsh and a more metallic light upon the stream that crossed it; the moon, having risen out of the sea, was just level with the eastern down, and the pine-stems upon its ridge crossed the white disc darkly. Solitary figures coming from the mill on the hill’s crest, strayed across the brown slope beneath them, and a group of men and women returning to the camp sang snatches of song as they lounged along the road in the hollow.
Jenny shook herself as she heard them.
“Good-night,” she said curtly. “I expec’ ye ain’t got nothing more to say.”
“No, I don’t know as I ’ave,” murmured he slowly.
But almost before the words were out of his mouth, Jenny was far below him on the steep lane, running as though for her life. He stood there, still with his cap in his hand; there was a lump in his throat, and he swore a quiet oath to himself as he watched her flit through the twilight.