“Granted,” said she. “It’s likely ye should think so. But my dead mother might see me and welcome, for all the ’arm I’ve a-done, and that’s the truth!”
He shivered at the words and looked round.
“I wish I could say as much,” said he.
She looked at him and came a step nearer, but the sob that had risen in her throat at his unintentional insult had turned to a fit of coughing, and she could not speak.
He turned quickly to the hearth, and kicked the bits of stick together with his foot; but there was no more life in them, they were burnt out, and there were no more.
“Ye’re catchin’ yer death o’ cold,” repeated he testily. “I dursen’t advise ye to stop ’ere no longer. Let me show ye the way to the next village, if ye’re a stranger to the place. Leastways, I think there’s a parcel o’ ’ouses afore ye come to it, where ye might get a night’s lodgin’.”
She laughed harshly, and he stopped—confused.
He guessed her meaning.
“’Aven’t ye got no money?” asked he after a minute or two, timidly.
“No,” she answered, struggling fiercely with tears again. “I’ve been out o’ work this three weeks. Ye’d ha’ done best to leave me where I was!”