But he did not give up until the third week of illness, and then one warm day at noon, Bess, at work in her kitchen among dishes and pans, was startled from her labors by his appearing at the door and staggering toward her. “What's up wi' yo'?” she demanded. “Yo' look loike death.”
“I dunnot know,” he faltered, and then, staggering again, caught at her dress with feeble hands “Dunnot yo',” he whispered, sinking forward— “dunnot yo' let no one—come anigh me.”
She flung a strong arm around him, and saved him from a heavy fall. His head dropped helplessly against her breast.
“He's fainted dead away,” she said: “he mun ha' been worse than he thowt fur.”
She laid him down, and, loosening his clothes at the throat, went for water; but a few minutes after she had bent over him for the second time an exclamation, which was almost a cry, broke from' her. “Lord ha' mercy!” she said, and fell back, losing something of color herself.
She had scarcely recovered herself even when, after prolonged efforts, she succeeded in restoring animation to the prostrate figure under her hands. The heavy eyes opening met hers in piteous appeal and protest.
“I—thowt it wur death comn,” said the lad. “I wur hopin' as it wur death.”
“What ha' yo' done as yo' need wish that?” said. Bess; and then, her voice shaking with excitement which got the better of her and forced her to reveal herself, she added, “I've fun' out that as yo've been hidin'.”
Abrupt and unprefaced as her speech was, it scarcely produced the effect she had expected it would. Her charge neither flinched nor reddened. He laid a weak, rough hand upon her dress with a feebly pleading touch. “Dunnot yo' turn agen me,” he whispered: “yo' wouldna if yo' knew.”
“But I dunnot know,” Bess answered, a trifle doggedly, despite her inward relentings.