For the first time Kit looked him firmly in the face.
“I’m going back to Marget,” he declared aloud.
Agnes uttered a sharp cry, and Thomas flushed. “Nay, Father, you’re not,” he answered, setting his mouth.
“Ay, but I am that. I shouldn’t ha’ come. Folks as gang once should bide away.”
“What, she’s as bad to you as an old witch!” Agnes broke out. “She’s been bad to you all along. She doesn’t do right by you at all.”
“I care nowt for that if I have the rest.” The stress and anguish had gone out of his face, as well as the look that sought and couldn’t find. He looked older and frailer, but he looked certain and secure. The little strength that he had was going fast, but he would never have to try it like this again. He took a firm step towards the door, but Thomas put himself in between.
“Nay, then, you’ll gang none!” he said through his shut teeth. The dark flush rose in his face to the roots of his hair. His voice was suddenly brutal, fierce and coarse. “What-like fools d’ye think we’ll look?” he cried; “and after all the trouble we’ve took an’ all?”
“I’ve got to gang,” Kit told him, looking him in the eyes.
“Well, you waint, an’ that’s flat!”
“Let me gang,” the old man begged.