"
"I daren't, Jim. They'll expect me. They'll wonder."
"Ay, 'tis thot waay always. Yo're no sooner coom than yo've got to be
back for this, thot and toother. I'm fair sick of it."
"So am I."
She sighed.
"Wall then--yo must end it."
"How can I end it?"
"Yo knaw how."
"Oh Jim--darling--haven't I told you?"
"Yo've toald mae noothin' that makes a hap'orth o' difference to mae.
Yo've coom to mae. Thot's all I keer for."
He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the house-place.
"Let me shaw yo t' house--now you've coom."
His voice pleaded and persuaded. In spite of its north-country accent
Ally loved his voice. It sounded musical and mournful, like the voices
of the mountain sheep coming from far across the moor and purified by
distance.
He took her through the kitchen and the little parlor at the end of
the house.
As he looked round it, trying to see it with her eyes, doubt came to
him. But Ally, standing there, looked toward the kitchen.
"Will Maggie be there?" she said.
"Ay, Maaggie'll be there, ready when yo want her."
"But," she said, "I don't want her."
He followed her look.
"I'll 'ave it all claned oop and paapered and paainted. Look yo--I
could have a hole knocked through t' back wall o' t' kitchen and a
winder put there--and roon oop a wooden partition and make a passage
for yo t' goa to yore awn plaace, soa's Maaggie'll not bae in yore
road.
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