“How is your wife? I hope better. She seemed ill yesterday.”
“Ah, ah, you called yesterday, as she said. Thanky, she’s on’y a poor creature now. This job’s unsattled her. Good-bye, parson, good-bye.”
“But is there anything I can do for you, Banks?”
“Nay, parson, nowt as I knows on. Good-bye, good-bye.”
He shook hands, and went quietly out to the garden, and along the path, leaving the vicar wondering.
“Did he mean anything by his words?” the vicar said, “or was it only in connection with asking me to forgive him? He couldn’t mean—oh, no, he’s too calm and subdued for that. He’s like a man who knows the worst now, and is better able to bear it. I should be glad to see the lock-out at an end, but, even if it were, that poor old man would never go to work for Richard Glaire again.”