“I’ll take him away if it’s too much for you; but there’s nothing to fear from him now,” Monjoy murmured, not looking at her; “and—Cicely—for the other business, I’ve something you must—must—hear——”
“No, no!” she muttered, repeating her gesture and catching at her upper lip with her teeth. “I can’t—I can’t—oh, it’s cruel to force it on me now! Haven’t I care enough?” Her breathing was interrupted, her mouth drawn, and her bosom heaved.
“Over much, lass; but you must hear me——”
Then, seeming still to struggle and to hold something away from her, she began to talk low and rapidly.
“Leave me quiet, to see it through. To-morrow—to-night, for all I know—the blinds may ha’ to be drawn and the seeming-glasses covered—you men know nothing o’ this—this is our part—the waiting—always waiting—. Yonder’s one who’s waited, and look at her!”
“Oh, hush, hush, Cicely!” But she continued more quickly.
“Oh, ye don’t know! Heavens o’ happiness, ye tell us, isn’t too much for us, and see the hell o’ misery that comes instead! All the things you’re going to do for us, you in your pride ... but the little that will fit us, all we ask o’ ye, no, no!... Ay, ye’re away forgetting, busy and forgetting all the time; if this turn misses o’ happiness, the next’ll do it; and what is it that we ask in our hearts? A bite and sup, a hearth and a babe and a kiss. I wed ye unthinking, Arthur—ay, ye know I did—but I ha’ thought since—the time women do think, God help ’em! You never dazzled me wi’ your talk o’ riches, never; but the little a woman asks is too much for a man to give, it seems. I wonder what you’d ha’ thought if you’d heard Sally before she took the draught!... Courting again, she was, with Jim, o’ spring evenings down the deans (forgive me, lass!), and him with her hair about his neck and suchlike, and sometimes her reckoning to be the man and toying wi’ him and kissing him here and there, as lads kiss lasses, and all their tricks and babble.... Ay!” she cried, excitedly, “you’ve brought it all back to me now, all that I’ve held away for days that I might nurse and watch and tend the bairn and be a bit o’ use!... And when they were wed, what more did she ask than just that? Would a golden crown ha’ suited her better? Nay, nay! It’s less we get after we’re wed. Happen men’ll know more of it i’ th’ next world, for they know little enough i’ this.—But go your way, Arthur; I’ve told ye mine.”
He had not once lifted his head; he did not do so now.
“I’m making my way yours, if you’ll go it with me,” he said in a low voice.
“Ay, I don’t doubt this has shaken you all up a bit, but men soon get over it,” she replied.