Only the monotonous whirr of the mill replied.
"She says, 'Aaron Latta, do you mind that Jean Myles was ower heavy for you to lift? Oh, Aaron, you could lift me so pitiful easy now.'"
Another thread broke and the warper rose with sudden fury.
"Now that you've eased your conscience, smith," he said, fiercely, "make your feet your friend."
"I'll do so," Auchterlonie answered, laying the letter on the webs, "but I leave this ahint me."
"Wap it in the fire."
"If that's to be done, you do it yoursel'. Aaron, she treated you ill, but—"
"There's the door, smith."
The smith walked away, and had only gone a few steps when he heard the whirr of the mill again. He went back to the door.
"She's dying, man!" he cried.