“Likely you’re blinded wi’ the sun!” She flung him a look of laughing scorn and went to the window again.... “What in the name o’ goodness can ha’ come to yon trap! D’you think owt’s gone amiss on the road?”
“More like they’ve been late in setting off, as I said afore. I’ll be bound Marget’s found summat to keep ’em back, if it’s only to put the poor old man about. Or likely they’ve been bothered wi’ folk stopping ’em on t’road. They’ll all be agog on the marsh to think as he’s coming home.”
“Folks say they’re glad the Sills isn’t quitting the marsh,” Agnes said. “They thought nowt o’ the man as come here after your dad. He seems to have been only a terble middlin’ sort—over fond o’ the drink and happen a bit daft. The place isn’t over lucky, Thomas, I doubt!”
“Folks make their own luck,” Thomas said doggedly, squaring his jaw, “and anyway round it’s brought me all the luck I want. There’s you here, as I never thought’d come, and brass enough to put the farm on its legs. And now there’s the old man coming home to-night. I reckon I’m suited as well as most. There’s nobbut one thing grubs me,” he went on, with a moody look, “and that’s that the old chap ever had to gang.”
“Eh, let it bide, can’t you?” Agnes cried aloud. She stole a glance at his face and her own drooped again. “Surely to goodness you’ve never been going over yon? Things is right enough now—as right as rain.”
“Ay, but they’re spoilt a bit for us, all the same.” His voice had dropped back into the bitter tone. “I still feel sort o’ shamed about the job, and I reckon you’re none so bright about it yourself. And yet, if it come back over again, I’d do same as afore.”
“I don’t see as we could ha’ done different,” Agnes said, and sighed. “I did say as I’d come if you couldn’t fix nowt else, but I doubt we wouldn’t ha’ made much out in the end.”
“It’d ha’ been hell for both on us afore so long.” He began to walk restlessly up and down behind her back, the old angry resentment blurring and troubling his face. “What beats me about it all is what come over you just then. You’d been right enough afore, and you’re suited well enough now. What, for the land’s sake made you act so strange?”
“Nay, I don’t know, I’m sure. I’m fair puzzled about it myself.” She laughed, but there were regretful tears behind the laugh. “Seems to me women don’t always know exactly what they’re at. Folks don’t always see their road clear in front o’ their feet. There’s a time for everything, I reckon, that’s what it is, and it hadn’t come just then for you and me.”
“Anyway, it’s come now, thanks be!” he said in a sudden burst, and he stopped his angry pacing and came to her side. “But all the same,” he persisted, “I’d ha’ liked it perfect all through. There’s things as hurt to look back on more than a deal. There’s times I’ve heard her rating the poor old chap, I’ve felt that bad I could ha’ shot myself right out. ’Twas summat like as if he’d been clapped in jail; as if you an’ me had gone and put him in quod.”