"Better not ask her. She seems ill and tired."
The sick man smiled—a slight and scornful smile.
"She'll ha' time enough presently to be tired. You goa an' ask her."
"I'd rather not leave you, Bateson. You're very ill."
"Then take that stick then, an' rap on the floor. She'll hear tha fast enough."
The Rector hesitated, but only for a moment. He took the stick and rapped.
Almost immediately the sound of a turning key was heard through the small thinly built cottage. The door below opened and footsteps came up the stairs. But before they reached the landing the sound ceased. The two men listened in vain.
"You goa an' tell her as I'm sorry I knocked her aboot," said Bateson, eagerly. "An' she can see for hersen as I can't aggravate her no more wi' the other woman." He raised himself on his elbow, staring into the Rector's face. "I'm done for—tell her that."
"Shall I tell her also, that you love her?—and you want her love?"
"Aye," said Bateson, nodding, with the same bright stare into Meynell's eyes. "Aye!"