"Nay, but yon's never----" she began; and stopped.
"Eh, old woman?"
"Nay, it's nowt."
"It's Saturday, ain't it?"
"I reckon it is."
"Saturday's my day for luck," she heard him saying, as the match died down. "I've got a cinch on Saturdays, that's sure!" The gaiety in his tone was only a mockery of what it had been before. "Tide at ten, eh?--and it's six, now." He drew his watch from his pocket and gave it a glance. "Well, so long! I'll be right back!"
To both the moments seemed endless in which he moved across the floor. His look dwelt upon her in a last effort to reach her heart, and then lingered about the room on the dim fellowships of his youth. But even Geordie himself could hardly have touched her in that hour. The strongest motive that had ruled her life had her finally by the throat.
Yet she called to him even as he went, afraid, woman-like, of the sound of the shut door. "Jim!" she flung after him. "Jim, lad! ... Jim!"
"Say! Did you call?" He was back again on wings.
"Nay ... it was nowt." She indicated the pocket-book within reach of her hand. "You'd best take yon truck along wi' you an' all."