But instead of May, who was nowhere to be seen, a man came shyly towards them from a neighbouring group. He was like Simon to look at, only younger and better clad, showing none of the other’s signs of trouble and hard toil. His voice was like Simon’s, too, when Simon was at his best, but Sarah stiffened when she heard him speak.
“You’ll not ha’ seen Fleming’s lass?” Simon asked, devouring the street, and Will swung about at once to cast his own glance over the press.
“She was by a minute since,” he said thoughtfully. “She can’t ha’ gone far. …” He hunted a moment longer, and turned shyly back. “Likely you’ll give us a call at Blindbeck this afternoon?”
Sarah said nothing in reply to the invitation, but Simon gave a nod.
“I could do wi’ a word wi’ you, Will, if you’re not throng. It’s about time we were thinking o’ making a change. Sarah’s bothered wi’ her eyes.”
“Nay, now, that’s bad news, to be sure.” Will was genuinely concerned. He glanced at Sarah kindly, though with a diffident air. “Happen a pair o’ glasses’ll fix you,” he said, in his gentle tones. There was a pause, and then he jerked his head towards the arch that led to the inn. “I left my missis behind there, talking to Mrs. Bond. If you’re thinking o’ seeing t’doctor, you’d best have a woman to come along.”
“I meant to ax May,” Simon said hurriedly, praying for May to spring out of the ground, and, as if by way of reply, she came out of a shop on the far side. He plunged forward, waving and calling her name, and she stopped, smiling, as he caught her by the arm. She was grave at once, however, when she heard what he had to say, and her eyes rested on Sarah with a troubled look. She gave a nod of comprehension when he pointed towards the arch, and, without waiting to hear more, crossed over to Sarah’s side. By the time the stranger appeared the women had vanished down the street, while the brothers were making their way to the market square. This was the second time that the Thornthwaites had fled at the sound of a name, and this time, as it happened, May was sent speeding away, too.
IV
May, however, was only thinking of how she could be of use, and was very cheery and pleasant all along the street. Already she had come across one or two pieces of news, and laughed about them to Sarah until Sarah was laughing, too. Once or twice they met somebody who had something else to tell, and they stood on the pavement together and thrashed the matter out. May’s laugh sounded young and gay, and a girlish colour came into her cheeks. The old figure beside her seemed to draw vitality from her generous warmth, her brave air which made an adventure of every commonplace of life. Sarah even rose to a joke or two on her own account, and was wonderfully heartened when they got to the doctor’s house. She would not hear of having a cup of tea or even a rest. Time enough for such things, she said with spirit, when they were through.
She had both of them, however, at the doctor’s, because he would not let her go away without. May took her into the dining-room by his orders, and found her an easy chair beside the fire. A parlourmaid brought a tray, and Sarah drank her tea cheerfully enough, soothed by the comfort and quiet and the presence of some sweet-smelling flower. The doctor had been kindness itself, and had felt a little depressed when he sent the women away. He did not know that the last thing that was in their minds as they sat by the fire was the terrible fact that Sarah was going blind.
They spoke of it, indeed, but only casually, as it were, before passing on to the greater thing at its back. Sarah’s sense of courtesy forced her at least to give the doctor a pat on the head.
“Ay, he was right kind,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, “and I will say this for him that he seemed to know his job. I’ve had my doubts for a while there was summat badly wrong. I don’t know as it’s news to me, after all. As for yon operation he says might do summat for me, I doubt I’m over old. We’ve no brass for notions o’ that sort, neither, come to that.”
“There’s hospitals,” May said—“homes and suchlike where they take you free. Plenty of folk go to ’em, even at your age, and they’d see to you well enough, I’m sure.”
“Ay, doctor said that an’ all,” Sarah assented, though in an uninterested tone. “But I’d only take badly to they sort o’ spots now,” she added, sipping her tea. “I’d be marching out agen, likely, as soon as ever I’d set my foot inside of the door.”
“They say folks settle wonderfully when they’ve made up their minds. It’s worth a bit of trouble, if they put you right.”
“Happen,” Sarah said casually, and withdrew it at once. “I don’t know as it is.”
“You’re down, that’s what it is. You’ll feel better after a bit.”
“I don’t know as I shall.”
“You’ll feel different about it in a day or two. You’d come through it right as a bobbin. You’ve pluck enough for ten.”
“Ay, well, I can’t settle it one way or t’other,” Sarah said stubbornly, turning a deaf ear. “Things is a bit ham-sam just now,” she added evasively, fiddling with her cup, and wondering why she could not bring herself to announce that they were leaving
