“I’ll see him; I’ll speak with him man to man. He must give you up. Oh, if I could change places with him and find myself a labourer just toiling to make a home for you, I’d thank the Lord on my knees!”
“I wish I’d never seen either of ’e, for I’ve awnly made the both of ’e wretched men. Better I’d never drawed breath than bring this gert load of sorrow upon you an’ him.”
“You can’t help it; you’re innocent, and the punishment must not fall upon your shoulders. You love me better than Aggett; and that he must know in justice to himself—and us.”
“Then his life be ruined an’ his cup bitter for all time.”
“I don’t think so, Sarah. You misjudge him. And even if this must be so, it is only Fate. I will speak to him to-night.”
“Leave it a little while. I’m fearful to trembling when I think of it. ’Tis I must tell him, not you. ’Tis I must tell him I’m not faithful an’ beg for forgiveness from him. An’ if he struck me down an’ hurted me—if he killed me—I’d say ’twas awnly fair punishment.”
“He never would lift a finger, even in his rage.”
“Jan? Never—never. A fiery soul, but so soft-hearted as a li’l cheel. Ess fay, ’tis from me he should hear it, if he must.”
“It would be better that I should do this.”
Before they reached the stile, that stood under the great beech tree, each loving coward had prayed the other to leave the task alone; and finally both promised to do nothing for a short space. Then into the light they came, and Sarah, glancing upward, saw dim letters and a lovers’ knot like sad eyes staring from the tree trunk.