But I can love ye wi' all my might, an' watch over ye, and
work for ye better than any one o' em--'
She was crying to herself, silently, while he spoke. He noticed nothing,
however: the twilight hid her face from him.
'There's nought against me,' he persisted. 'I'm as good a man as any one
on 'em. Ay, as good a man as any one on 'em,' he repeated defiantly,
raising his voice.
'It's impossible, Mr. Garstin, it's impossible. Ye've been very kind to
me--' she added, in a choking voice.
'Wa dang it, I didna mean t' mak ye cry, lass,' he exclaimed, with a
softening of his tone. 'There's nought for ye t' cry ower.'
She sank on to the stones, passionately sobbing in hysterical and
defenceless despair. Anthony stood a moment, gazing at her in clumsy
perplexity: then, coming close to her, put his hand on her shoulder, and
said gently:
'Coom, lass, what's trouble? Ye can trust me.'
She shook her head faintly.
'Ay, but ye can though,' he asserted, firmly. 'Come, what is't?'
Heedless of him, she continued to rock herself to and fro, crooning in
her distress:
'Oh! I wish I were dead!.
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