"Do you think he cares—one rap? It was his duty to go and see his father—so he went. And now he's all the more certain he's on the road to heaven—because his father abused him, and his sister turned him out. He's going to be a priest directly—and a missionary after that—and a holy martyr, too, if he gets his deserts. There's always fever, or natives, handy. What do earth-worms like mothers and sisters matter to him?"
Polly stared. Even she, as she looked, as she heard, felt that a gulf opened—that a sick soul spoke.
"Oh! an I'd clean forgot," she faltered—"as he must be stayin at
Bannisdale—as yo wad be seein him."
"I see so many of them," said Laura wearily. She took up her bag, that had been leaning against the stile. "Now, good-bye!"
Suddenly Polly's eyes brimmed with tears. She flung an arm round the slim childish creature.
"Laura, whatever did you do it for? I doan't believe as yo're a bit happy i' yor mind! Coom away!—we'se luke after you—we're your aan kith an kin!"
Laura paused in Polly's arm. Then she turned her wild face—the eyes half closed, the pale lips passionately smiling.
"I'll come, Polly, when I'm dead—or my heart's dead—not before!"
And, wrenching herself away, she ran down the path. Polly, with her clutch of Brahma eggs in her hand, that she was taking to the Bannisdale Bridge Farm, leant against the stile and cried.