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His dull eyes searched every group in a dead despair that was yet a passion, in all its stillness. "How long will it be," he asked slowly at last "th' tide? Twenty minutes?" "Happen so," was the answer. "An', lad, lad! we conna help thee.
He saw at once the fearful peril in which he was placed, and averted his gaze from the scorching glance of the reeve. At this moment the door was tried without, and the voice of Bess was heard, saying, "Who ha' yo got wi' yo, Ruchot; and whoy ha' yo fastened t' door?" "Your answer?" demanded the reeve. "Ey canna gi' it now," replied the miller. "Come in, Bess; come in." "Ey conna," she replied.
I exclaimed, "I never knew that you were a married man, Tim." He dropped his head upon his hand again, still pulling nervously at the grass with the other. "Th' law says I beant, Mester," he answered in a painful, strained fashion. "I conna tell mysen what God-a'-moighty 'ud say about it." "I don't understand," I faltered; "you don't mean to say the poor girl never was your wife, Hibblethwaite."
What's what yo've done sin' to what yo' did afore? Yo' conna wipe that out and yo' conna mak' me forget. I hate yo', an' th' worse because I wur beginnin' to be content a bit. I hate mysen. I ought to ha' knowed" wildly "he would ha' knowed whether I wur true or false, poor chap he would ha' knowed."
"Lads," he said, "we conna do this oursens. Run for help, Jem Coulter, an' run wi' thy might, fur it wunnot be so long afore th' tide'll flow." Up to this time the man on the sands had lain with closed eyes and set teeth, but when he heard this his eyes opened and he looked up. "Eh!" he said, in that blind, stupid fashion. "What's that theer tha's sayin' Mester?"
"Why don't you know?" he retorted in abated voice. "Them's her brothas and sistas." "And that woman?" "The lady at the conna? That's her motha." When the event was over, and all the things had been said and said again, and there was nothing more to keep the spring and summer months from going up to their rooms to lie down, and the fall and winter months from trying to get something to eat, Mrs.
"There, you have ruined my hopes, you little wretch!" cried Potts, furiously. "Ey'm reet glad on't," said Jennet. "Yo may tay me to Lonkester Castle, boh yo conna hong me. Ey knoa that fu' weel. Ey shan get out, and then look to yersel, lad; for, os sure os ey'm Mother Demdike's grandowter, ey'n plague the life out o' ye."
It was something more subtle than words. She was not keeping him wholly in the dark when she said "What she likes about thee." If Ann said things like that to her, he was pretty well off. "Happen a look at a lass's grandmother when tha conna get at th' lass hersen is a bit o' comfort," she added. "But don't tha go walkin' by here to look in at th' window too often.
Oh, my poor lass, how hard she tried to pray fur me, Mester yes, fur me, as she lay theer wi' her arms round her dead babby's grave, an' her cheek on th' grass as grew o'er his breast. 'Lord God-a'-moighty, she says, 'help us dunnot gi' us up dunnot, dunnot. We conna do 'thowt thee now, if th' time ever wur when we could.
Not that her manner was in the least degree effusive: she rather extended a rough protection to her admirer, and displayed a tendency to fight his battles and employ her sharper wit as a weapon in his behalf. "Yo' may get th' best o' him," she said dryly once to the wit of the Creek, who had been jocular at his expense, "but yo' conna get th' best o' me. Try me a bit, lad.
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