She stood in a dream to hear his voice again. “If tears could make it grow—”
“Tears! ’Tis a poor, feeble sorrow tears will drown.”
“Men an’ women be different. Tears do soften the cutting edge to us females. But I’ll go round t’other way henceforth, Mr. Lethbridge, an’ I’m very sorry I hurt the grass and troubled you about it.”
He looked hard at her, and the mists of memory rose a little from off his spirit. Life had left him petrified, while for the woman the years were full, mostly of sorrow. Her husband and child were both dead, and she lived alone.
Now the man’s cold heart felt a throb.
“’Tis strange to hear your voice,” he said. “Do ’e ever think ’bout the old days, ma’am, or do they hurt ’e?”
“Both,” she said. “I think an’ I suffer. But I’ve lived a lifetime since then.”
“Yet you ban’t very old now?”
“Twenty-six, Mr. Lethbridge.”
“I know that well enough—twenty-six come tenth o’ next month—July.”