“Spring nor summer will do me good,” said the girl quietly.
Margaret looked up at the man, almost expecting some contradiction from him, or at least some remark that would modify his daughter’s utter hopelessness. But instead, he added—
“I’m afeared hoo speaks the truth. I’m afeared hoo’s too far gone in a waste.”
“I shall have a spring where I am boun’ to, and flowers, and amaranths, and shining robes besides.”
“Poor lass, poor lass!” said her father in a low tone. “I’m none so sure o’ that; but it’s a comfort to thee, poor lass, poor lass. Poor father! it’ll be soon.”
Margaret was shocked by his words—shocked but not repelled; rather attracted and interested.
“Where do you live? I think we must be neighbours, we meet so often on this road.”
“We put up at nine Frances Street, second turn to th’ left at after yo’ve past th’ Goulden Dragon.”
“And your name? I must not forget that.”
“I’m none ashamed o’ my name. It’s Nicholas Higgins. Hoo’s called Bessy Higgins. Whatten yo’ asking for?”