Holding her fast, he expostulated:

'Coom, Rosa, can we na part friends?'

'Part friends, indeed,' she retorted bitterly. 'Friends wi' the likes o'
you. What d'ye tak me for? Let me git home, I tell ye. An' please God
I'll never set eyes on ye again. I hate t' sight o' ye.'

'Be off wi' ye, then,' he answered, pushing her roughly back into the
road. 'Be off wi' ye, ye silly. Ye canna say I hav na spak fair t' ye,
an', by goom, ye'll na see me shally-wallyin this fashion agin. Be off
wi' ye: ye can jest shift for yerself, since ye canna keep a civil
tongue in yer head.'

The girl, catching at her breath, stood as if dazed, watching his
retreating figure; then starting forward at a run, disappeared up the
hill, into the darkness.


III

Old Mr. Blencarn concluded his husky sermon. The scanty congregation, who
had been sitting, stolidly immobile in their stiff, Sunday clothes,
shuffled to their feet, and the pewful of school children, in clamorous
chorus, intoned the final hymn. Anthony stood near the organ, absently
contemplating, while the rude melody resounded through the church,
Rosa's deft manipulation of the key-board. The rugged lines of his face
were relaxed to a vacant, thoughtful limpness, that aged his expression
not a little: now and then, as if for reference, he glanced