—'Wish ye could die?' he repeated. 'Why, whatever can't be that's troublin' ye like this? There, there, lassie, give ower: it 'ull all coom right, whatever it be—'
'No, no,' she wailed. 'I wish I could die!... I wish I could die!'
Lights were twinkling in the village below; and across the valley darkness was draping the hills. The girl lifted her face from her hands, and looked up at him with a scared, bewildered expression.
'I must go home: I must be getting home,' she muttered.
'Nay, but there's sommut mighty amiss wi' ye.'
'No, it's nothing... I don't know—I'm not well... I mean it's nothing... it'll pass over... you mustn't think anything of it.'
'Nay, but I canna stand by an see ye in sich trouble.'
'It's nothing, Mr. Garstin, indeed it's nothing,' she repeated.
'Ay, but I canna credit that,' he objected stubbornly.
She sent him a shifting, hunted glance.