"I've some'ut to say to ye too. Will ye listen to me first, Margaret?" He spoke low, with an effort to be quiet and cool for her sake; and then went on, without waiting for an answer: "After ye were gone yesterday, I came to look for ye; I wanted to say as I took shame to mysel' for holding ye back when your father was ill, an' I would have taken ye to Lupcombe; but I was too late. I do take shame for that; I hadn't ought to ha' tried to stop ye. I am the most bound of all men to be fair to 'ee, an' I wasn't."
"Oh, Barnabas!" said Meg, looking up with tears in her eyes; this was not what she had expected. "Would you have let me go to him if I had asked you again? I wish I had, then; I thought it would be no good; that you never changed your mind."
"I've heard foalk say that we're all a bit obstinate," said the preacher; "an', where a man's had a clear leading fro' th' Lord, he can't, to my mind, heed other men's talk too little; but I wasna followin' the Lord yesterday, but the devil; an' I was sorry for it when I came to my senses."
"You had a right to object, if you chose."
"Do you suppose I think I've a right to ill-treat ye? I'm sorry for us both, if ye do," he answered gravely, and then his voice softened. "Oh, Margaret! I was sore afeart all th' night. When I was lookin' for 'ee in the 'marshes,' it came over me that there was some evil comin' nigh to 'ee; I've had the feelin' all the week, but last night it were terrible close: I stayed an' shouted to 'ee; I felt as if I must save 'ee fro' summat; an', my little lass, I didn't know how to thank God enough when I saw ye, though ye were half scared o' me."
Meg buried her face lower in the hay. "You are thankful for small mercies," she said, in rather a choked voice. "It's not worth your while to care like that, Barnabas."
"The things a man 'ull die for take a grip on him fro' th' outside; an' he doesna reckon, is it worth 'so much' or 'so much'?" said the preacher. "Ye are more nor all th' world to me now, whatever happens; an' it wasna I that set out to love ye, my maid; but the love for ye that just took a hold o' me."
"Whatever happens?" said Meg. She looked at him with a curious wonder. "If I had done something very bad, or if——"
"Ye need make no 'ifs,'" he cried. "It's not hell—no, nor yet heaven, that 'ull take ye out o' my heart now!" And Meg's eyes fell before his; she had her answer!
She could not hinder this strong love. Barnabas would never count costs either in the things that pertained to God, or in the things that pertained to man.