The Three Sisters Part 56

"An' 'twasn' mae, Jim, and navver will bae."

"'Twas Dr. Rawcliffe."

"'E? 'E's anoother. 'Ooo's 'e married? Miss Gwanda? Nat' e!"

"Yo' let t' doctor bae, Essy. 'E's right enoof. Saw I ought t' marry yo'. But I'm nat goain' to."

"'Ave yo' coom t' tall mae thot? 'S ef I didn' knaw it. 'Ave I avver aa.s.sked yo' t' marry mae?"

"Haw, Essy."

"Yo' _can_ aa.s.sk mae; yo'll bae saafe enoof. Fer I wawn't 'ave yo'.

Woonce I med 'a' been maad enoof. I med 'a' said yes t' yo'. But I'd saay naw to-day."

At that he smiled.

"Yo' wouldn' 'ave a good-fer-noothin' falla like mae, would yo, laa.s.s?

Look yo'--it's nat that I couldn' 'ave married yo'. I could 'ave married yo' right enoof. An' it's nat thot I dawn' think yo' pretty.

Yo're pretty enoof fer me. It's--it's--I caan't rightly tall whot it is."

"Dawn' tall mae. I dawn' want t' knaw."

He looked hard at her.

"I might marry yo' yat," he said. "But yo' knaw you wouldn' bae happy wi' mae. I sud bae crool t' yo'. Nat because I wanted t' bae crool, but because I couldn' halp mysel. Theer'd bae soomthin' alse I sud bae thinkin' on and wantin' all t' while."

"I knaw. I knaw. I wouldn' lat yo', Jim. I wouldn' lat yo'."

"I knaw there's t' baaby an' all. It's hard on yo', Essy. But--I dawn'

knaw--I ned bae crool to t' baaby, too."

Then she looked up at him, but with more incredulity than reproach.

"Yo' wudn'," she said. "Yo' cudn' bae crool t' lil Jimmy."

He scowled.

"Yo've called 'im thot, Essy?"

"An' why sudn' I call 'im? 'E's a right to thot naame, annyhow. Yo'

caann't taake thot awaay from 'im."

"I dawn' want t' taake it away from 'im. But I wish yo' 'adn'. I wish you 'adn', Essy."

"Why 'alf t' lads in t' village is called Jimmy. Yo're called Jimmy yourself, coom t' thot."

He considered it. "Well--it's nat as ef they didn' knaw--all of 'em."

"Oh--they knaws!"

"D'yo' mind them, Essy? They dawn't maake yo' feel baad about it, do they?"

She shook her head and smiled her dreamy smile.

He rose and looked down at her with his grieved, resentful eyes.

"Yo' moosn' suppawse I dawn feel baad, Essy. I've laaid awaake manny a night, thinkin' what I've doon t'yo'."

"What _'ave_ yo' doon, Jimmy? Yo' maade mae 'appy fer s.e.x moonths.

An' there's t' baaby. I didn' want 'im before 'e coom--seemed like I'd 'ave t' 'ave 'im stead o' yo'. But yo' can goa right awaay, Jimmy, an'

I sudn' keer ef I navver saw yo' again, so long's I 'ad 'im."

"Is thot truth, Essy?"

"It's Gawd's truth."

He put out his hand and caressed the child's downy head as if it was the head of some young animal.

"I wish I could do more fer 'im, Essy. I will, maaybe, soom daay."

"I wouldn' lat yo'. I wouldn' tooch yo're mooney now ef I could goa out t' wark an' look affter 'im too. I wouldn' tooch a panny of it, I wouldn'."

"Dawn' yo' saay thot, Essy. Yo' dawn' want to spite mae, do yo'?"

"I didn' saay it t' spite yo', Jimmy. I said it saw's yo' sudn' feel saw baad."

He smiled mournfully.

"Poor Essy," he said.

She gave him a queer look. "Yo' needn' pity _mae,_" she said.

He went away considerably relieved in his mind, but still suffering that sullen uneasiness in his soul.

XLIV

It was the last week in June.

Mary Cartaret sat in the door of the cottage by the beck. And in her lap she held Essy's baby. Essy had run in to the last cottage in the row to look after her great aunt, the Widow Gale, who had fallen out of bed in the night.

The Widow Gale, in her solitude, had formed the habit of falling out of bed. But this time she had hurt her head, and Essy had gone for the doctor and had met Miss Mary in the village and Mary had come with her to help.

For by good luck--better luck than the Widow Gale deserved--it was a Wednesday. Rowcliffe had sent word that he would come at three.