"The day for our wedding, surely?"
"Never, never," she said, "never!" She clasped her hands over her heaving breast, "Never, Abram Lestwick! My funeral day will come afore my marriage day wi' 'ee!"
He nodded his head slowly. He had found a button, a button hanging by a mere thread; he twisted and tore at it till it came off, then he fingered the button, rolling it between finger and thumb, passing it restlessly from one hand to the other till at last he dropped it. He stooped and fumbled in the dust hunting for it as though it were something of great account. The girl clasped her face between her two hands and looked at him, terror in her eyes.
"Abram, Abram!"
He had not found the thing, he straightened himself up, but his yes still roved the ground.
"Why du 'ee pester I so?"
"I don't pester 'ee, my maid, I but come to look after my own!"
"I bain't your own!"
"'Ee be chose by I, willed to me by your grandmother, so 'ee du belong to I! and one day I will hev 'ee, Betty Hanson——"
"Never!"