"Tell him I should do him nowt but harm. I"--her voice trembled for the
first time--"I doan't bear him malice; I hope he'll not suffer. But I'm
not comin'."

"Wait a moment, Mrs. Bateson! I was to tell you that in spite of all, he
loved you--and he wanted your love."

She shook her head.

"It's no good talkin' that way. It'll mebbe use up his strength. Tell him
I'd have got Lizzie Short to come an' nurse 'im, if I could. It's her
place. But he knows as she an' her man flitted a fortnight sen, an'
theer's no address."

And she disappeared. But at the foot of the stairs--standing unseen--she
said in her usual tone:

"If there was a cup o' tea, I could bring you, sir--or anythin'?"

Meynell, distressed and indignant, did not answer. He returned to the
sick-room. Bateson looked up as the Rector bent once more over the bed.

"She'll not coom?" he said, in a faint voice of surprise. "Well, that's a
queer thing. She wasn't used to be a tough 'un. I could most make her do
what I wanted. Well, never mind, Rector, never mind. Sit tha down--mebbe
you'd be wanting to say a prayer. You're welcome. I reckon it'll do me no
harm."

His lips parted in a smile--a smile of satire. But his brows frowned, and
his eyes were still alive and bright, only now, as the watcher thought,