Jim whispered: 'It was me as done it. She ain't goin' ter die, is she?'
The doctor nodded.
'O God! wot shall I do? It was my fault! I wish I was dead!'
Jim took the girl's head in his hands, and the tears burst from his eyes.
'She ain't dead yet, is she?'
'She's just living,' said the doctor.
Jim bent down.
'Liza, Liza, speak ter me! Liza, say you forgive me! Oh, speak ter me!'
His voice was full of agony. The doctor spoke.