"Let it eat with poisoned teeth. No fault of his that I didn't die. An' I've cussed heaven for two months because the law haven't taken the man an' hanged him, as I meant it to. But yet hanging's an easier death than what he's dying."
"Alive!" said Norcot. "Alive—very much alive. And turned into a man. 'Doubtless a staunch and solid piece of framework, as any January could freeze together!' And where learnt you the trick of rising from the dead? What devil taught you that, you 'ceaseless labourer in the work of shame'?"
"If you've only got hard words——"
"Nay, nay; I love you; you are the Queen of the Moor!"
"He left me for dead, and Lord knows how long I was dead. He struck me down at dawn, and when I comed to my senses, the moon was setting. I got back to my secret place somehow, and found 'twas empty. So I seed that the Devil had helped him to find his darter. Well for her he did!"
Norcot nodded.
"Not a doubt of it," he said.
"Be you still of a mind about the wench?"
He did not answer, but prepared to pour some spirits into a glass for the old woman. Lovey, however, refused them.
"Be you still of a mind? That's my question."