But I rackon she'll 'ave mae now."
"Not even now."
"She's toald yo'?"
He did not meet her eyes.
"Yes."
"She's toald yo' she's afraid o' mae?"
"Yes. And you know why."
"Ay. I knaw. Yo're afraid o' mae, Ally, because yo've 'eard I haven't
always been as sober as I might bae; but yo're nat 'aalf as afraid o'
mae, droonk or sober, as yo' are of yore awn faather. Yo' dawn't think
I s'all bae 'aalf as 'ard an' crooil to yo' as yore faather is. She
doosn't, Mr. Cartaret, an' thot's Gawd's truth."
"I protest," said the Vicar.
"Yo' stond baack, sir. It's for 'er t' saay."
He turned to her, infinitely reverent, infinitely tender.
"Will yo' staay with 'im? Or will yo' coom with mae?"
"I'll come with you."
With one shoulder turned to her father, she cowered to her lover's
breast.
"Ay, an' yo' need n' be afraaid I'll not bae sober. I'll bae sober
enoof now. D'ye 'ear, Mr. Cartaret? Yo' need n' bae afraaid, either.
I'll kape sober. I'd kape sober all my life ef it was awnly t' spite
yo'. An' I'll maake 'er 'appy. For I rackon theer's noothin' I could
think on would spite yo' moor. Yo' want mae t' marry 'er t' poonish
'er. _I_ knaw."
"That'll do, Greatorex," said Rowcliffe.
"Ay. It'll do," said Greatorex with a grin of satisfaction.
He turned to Alice, the triumph still flaming in his face. "Yo're
_nat_ afraaid of mae?"
"No," she said gently. "Not now."
"Yo navver were," said Greatorex; and he laughed.
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