Timothy entered, carefully closing the door behind him. For an instant he stared questioningly at John Exton and Agatha, a mute, tragic figure bowed by years of toil. Agatha went up to him and kissed him.
“How is she?”
“She don’t know me. Aggie; she don’t know me. I ain’t no use to her. Who’s that?”
“John Exton, whom I’m going to marry.”
“Aye, aye. You two do as I bids ye. Bring no childer into this world. Where’s doctor?”
“He’ll be herealong soon,” said Martha.
“Doctor can’t do nothink. I might as well get coffin-stools out.”
“Shall I go?” said John to Agatha.
“Not yet.” She addressed her uncle: “You’ll be wanting your dinner, dear?”
“No; I wants my old Mary. I be fair lost wi’out she.”