"Then kill him! Run arter un, if it takes e' a week to catch un, an' kill un stone dead; an' never draw breath till you've a-done it."
Mr. Collins smiled like a bull-dog and licked his hands.
"You bid me?"
"Ess, I do; an' I'll marry you arter."
"Caan't kill un, for the law's tu strong; but I'll give un the darndest dressin' down as ever kept a man oneasy in his paarts for a month o' Sundays. If that'll comfort 'e, say so."
"Ess—'twill sarve. Doan't stand chatterin' 'bout it, or he'll get off."
Henry shook his head.
"No, he won't—not that way. The man's afeared, I reckon—smells trouble. He's lost his small wits, an' gone to the Moor, an' theer ban't no chance for escape now."
"Let un suffer same as he've made me—smash un to pieces!"
"I'll do all that my gert love for 'e makes reasonable an' right," said Collins calmly. Then he took off his coat and soft hat, and asked Sally if she was strong enough to carry them back to the farm for him.