“Well, I mun go now,” he said slowly. “Good-neet, Mester, good-neet, an' thank yo' fur listenin'.”
“Good night,” I returned, adding, in an impulse of pity that was almost a passion, “and God help you!”
“Thank yo' again, Mester!” he said, and then turned away; and as I sat pondering I watched his heavy drooping figure threading its way among the dark mounds and white marble, and under the shadowy trees, and out into the path beyond. I did not sleep well that night. The strained, heavy tones of the man's voice were in my ears, and the homely yet tragic story seemed to weave itself into all my thoughts, and keep me from rest. I could not get it out of my mind.
In consequence of this sleeplessness I was later than usual in going down to the factory, and when I arrived at the gates I found an unusual bustle there. Something out of the ordinary routine had plainly occurred, for the whole place was in confusion. There was a crowd of hands grouped about one corner of the yard, and as I came in a man ran against me, and showed me a terribly pale face.
“I ax pardon, Mester Doncaster,” he said in a wild hurry, “but theer's an accident happened. One o' th' weavers is hurt bad, an' I'm goin' fur th' doctor. Th' loom caught an' crushed him afore we could stop it.”
For some reason or other my heart misgave me that very moment. I pushed forward to the group in the yard corner, and made my way through it.
A man was lying on a pile of coats in the middle of the by-standers,—a poor fellow crushed and torn and bruised, but lying quite quiet now, only for an occasional little moan, that was scarcely more than a quick gasp for breath. It was Surly Tim!
“He's nigh th' eend o' it now!” said one of the hands pityingly. “He's nigh th' last now, poor chap! What's that he's savin', lads?”
For all at once some flickering sense seemed to have caught at one of the speaker's words, and the wounded man stirred, murmuring faintly—but not to the watchers. Ah, no! to something far, far beyond their feeble human sight—to something in the broad Without.
“Th' eend!” he said, “aye, this is th' eend, dear lass, an' th' path's aw shinin' or summat an—Why, lass, I can see thee plain, an' th' little chap too!”