She raised her head, stretching out something which was more like a claw than a hand.
"What's that noise?" she repeated.
The noise had been made by Helps. It was an amazed terrified outcry when he heard the voice of the man who was bending over the girl. The man himself had observed nothing.
"You are very ill," he repeated. "You ought to be in a hospital."
"No, no, none of that," she said, clutching hold of his hand. "I ha' lain down to die. Let me die. I wor starving—the pain wor awful. Now I'm easy. Don't touch me—don't lift me; I'm easy—I'm a-goin' to die."
The stranger knelt a little lower.
"I won't hurt you," he said. "I will sit here by your side. Don't be frightened. I am going to raise your head—a little—a very little. Now it rests on my knee. That is better."
"Eh, you're a good man; yes, that's nice."
Her breath came in great pants. Presently she began to wander.
"Is that you, mother? Mother, I've been such a bad gel—bad every way. The Almighty's punishing me. I'm dying, and He's a sending me to hell."