"No, no; we'd words to-day. I can't mind what about; but it don't matter much. I told 'un not to come."
But as he spoke a step fell on the stair, and the next moment Mr. Curzon pushed open the door with an expression on his face so pitiful, so strong, that in the tension of her feeling, Sally could only sob, and, withdrawing her hand, slip quietly away to the window.
The rector knelt down, bringing his face to a level with the dying man's.
"Allison, dear fellow, I only heard this minute what had happened; and I came. Will you let me stay?"
"You can please yourself," said Allison; "but you can't want to be here. We quarrelled, you and I."
"Not I," said the rector, gently.
"I'm mortal bad! I'm dying!" gasped the blacksmith. "It can't do no good to watch me."
"You'll let me say a psalm or read a prayer."
"No. Where's the use? I wouldn't say 'em living and I can't listen now I'm dying. I ain't no worse than others, and I'm better than some; and what's to see on the other side, I'll learn soon enough for myself. I'm nearly there."
"But God is here! close to you, Allison," pleaded the rector; "asking you even now to turn to Him, to look Him in the Face!"