Thud, thud, thud.
"And I hate 'ee tu!" said Betty suddenly.
"That be enough!" The stick fell. "'Ee've said it, Betty Hanson! Said it! Said it past recall! Hate me, 'ee said it! And to-morrow 'ee go out, go out, my maid, for I live in no house where hate du abide!"
"I'll go and glad, glad!" the girl said.
Abram rose slowly.
"I beg to thank 'ee for a good tea, which I did enjoy, Mrs. Hanson, 'tis time for me to be going!" he turned towards the door. "A very good tea!" he said. "I bain't partial to new baked currant biscuits!" He paused at the door and looked at Betty.
"I'll ask 'ee to name the day some other time, my maid! I be a patient man, a very patient man, I be in no hurry, no hurry at all! And I wish 'ee good night, Mrs. Hanson, and thank 'ee for your good tea once again!"
Betty stared at him, her eyes were wide, filled with terror. She lifted her hands to her face, she gripped her face between them, the sharp little nails dug into the soft, peach-like cheeks, but she felt no pain, was unconscious of what she was doing.
He looked at her and smiled, he backed out and closed the door, but she did not move. She heard his steps outside, her breast was rising and falling and when she spoke, she spoke in gasps, in short breathless sentences.
"Did 'ee see—grandmother, did 'ee see—his hands—his hateful hands? Grandmother, did 'ee see? One day—he'll kill someone wi' they hands, kill 'em—grandmother, maybe—maybe 'twill be—me!"