Sarah, ignoring the pair of them, had already clambered out, and Simon remembered that he had the horse to stable and the cows to milk and feed. “Danged foolishness, that’s what it is!” he growled, as he scrambled down, giving May a very unaccustomed scowl. “If I did as I ought, I’d be skifting you pretty sharp. Say what you’ve gitten to say, and then clear out!”
Sarah had been moving away from them towards the house, but, as May followed her, she swung about. There was no invitation, however, in her rigid face.
“You’ve nowt to say as I know on,” she said in a curt tone, “and I’m rarely tired. Anyway, there’s no sense in lossing yourself for a bit of a chat.”
“I’ll not lose myself, not I!” May laughed, advancing towards her, full of kindly warmth. She had been prepared for some such reception as this, and was not depressed. “What, I’ve been across that often, it’s the same to me as the road! I’ve been over when it was snowing—ay, and by moonlight, too. As for Geordie,” she added, with a tender laugh, “he’s crossed in the pitch dark, with only his nose to tell him where he was at!
“I was bound to ask you again before I slept,” she urged, casting a glance at Simon, busy with the horse. “Can’t I come in a minute?—I won’t be long. It’s late to be telling my business in the yard.”
“You’ve no business wi’ me,” Sarah said stolidly, “so you can stop off yon weam voice. You’re not coming into Sandholes tonight, May Fleming, so that’s flat!”
May laughed again, but there was less confidence in the laugh. She waited to speak again until Simon had moved away, the dog leaping and barking under the horse’s nose.
“It’s a shame,” she said cheerfully, “to bother you so late, but I just couldn’t bring myself to wait. It was you as brought it all back, Mrs. Thornthet, come to that, with yon talk at the doctor’s of Geordie coming home!”
“There’s no talk of him coming,” Sarah said coldly, “and never was.” With one magnificent sweep she disposed of the fallacy of the afternoon. “You ought to ha’ more sense than to go fancying things like that!”
“But you’d a letter, you said, begging his fare?” May was slightly bewildered, but went pressing on. “You said he was keen to come, if he had the brass.”
“Ay, and there wasn’t no brass; so yon’s finished and by wi’,” Sarah said.
“Ay, but there is,” May pleaded. “Plenty o’ brass!” She faltered a little before the other’s lack of response. “Nay, Mrs. Thornthet, don’t you look like that! What does it matter where it comes from if it makes folks glad?”
“I’ll buy no gladness o’ mine from you, my lass, as I said before.”
“I can spare the brass right enough—if it’s only that.”
“Ay, but I can’t spare the pride to take it,” Sarah said.
“Ay, well, then, think as you’re buying my happiness!” May begged. “I’d be real proud to think as I’d brought him back, even if he never looked aside at me again.”
“You’d have lile or nowt to be proud on, I’ll be bound!” There was a touch of weary impatience in Sarah’s voice. “And what-like happiness would it be for you in the end? Nay, May, my girl, we’ve thrashed the matter out, and I’m overtired to be fret wi’ it tonight.”
May sighed, and stood looking at her with troubled eyes, but she was unable to let the whole of her hope go.
“I’m right sorry to have put you about,” she said sadly. “It’s a real shame! Can’t you promise to think it over a bit? I’ll come over tomorrow for another talk.”
“I want neither talking nor thinking, so that’s flat!” Sarah snapped. “I’ll promise to turn key in the door when I see you coming, and that’s all!”
The tears came into May’s eyes.
“You’ve no call to go telling me off like that,” she said, with a little break in her voice. “I haven’t done anything that’s wrong, I’m sure.”
“You’ve shoved your nose into other folks’ business,” Sarah said roughly—“that’s what you’ve done! I’ll thank you to leave us to do for our lad as’ll suit us best!”
“He was mine, too!” May flung at her suddenly, roused at last. “Long ago, maybe—years on years—but he was mine as well!”
Sarah gave a sneering laugh.
“There’ll be more than one lass, I reckon, setting up to think that!”
May uttered a little cry, wounded to the heart.
“Eh, but you’re a cruel woman, Mrs. Thornthet!” she exclaimed, in a voice quivering with pain. “It’s true I’d be glad to see Geordie again, but it don’t make that much difference now. It’s for your sake and poor Mr. Thornthet’s that I want to see him back. …
“You’re fond o’ me, nowadays,” she went on bravely, controlling herself again. “You like me well enough now, whatever you felt once. Can’t you take the money for the sake of bygone times?”
But already Sarah had turned away from her and was moving towards the door. She fitted the key in the lock with the ease of use, and gave the rickety door an opening push. And again May followed and stood, strong in the courage of those who plead for the thing that they have at heart.
“Don’t go away feeling mad with me, Mrs. Thornthet!” she begged. “I’m sorry I spoke as I did. Think on how happy we were together, this morning, you and me. Think how it would be if he was to come marching into the yard. …”
Sarah was now over the threshold, with her hand against the door, but May’s hand was also against it, refusing to let it close. Her face was white as a flower upon the dusky air, pleading and sweet with frank lips and tearful eyes. Sarah herself was engulfed by the dark house, a shadow that was yet more surely a block than the actual door. It
